returned to the Piazza. A large concourse of people was assembled,
listening to a preacher, who was delivering his exhortations from a
temporary scaffold erected for that purpose. You know that in the
Catholic church, preaching is not considered as part of the duty of the
parish priest, but devolves on persons who devote themselves more
particularly to that object. Sometimes there is only one preacher, and
the sermon is given, as with us, after the service, but it is generally
a pretty long one; at other times one preacher succeeds another, and the
stream of instruction flows uninterruptedly for many hours. A chair was
provided for the orator on the present occasion, but he made little use
of it, walking for the most part backwards and forwards on the platform.
This space certainly gives room for more varied and graceful action than
the confinement in a tub, or in a pulpit like a tub. A man talking
earnestly with his friends will naturally at times advance or recede a
step or two, but he rarely thumps either a cushion or a table. I joined
the crowd, and found that the preacher’s subject was the abuse of
confession. He was endeavouring to impress on his audience the necessity
of sincere, heartfelt repentance; and of perfect candour, and openness
on the part of the penitent; otherwise, he assured us that the
confession, in spite of any penance we might perform, and of any
absolution we might receive, was merely to be added to the list of our
crimes, and made the subject of deeper penitence, and more honest
confession. Not content with generals he descended to particulars, and
described with great spirit and animation, the shifts of the sinner to
avoid too great an exposure of his fault, and yet to obtain, as he
erroneously imagined, the benefits of confession and absolution. “Oh do
not go to such a one,” says one young man to another, “he is a terrible
bore, and asks questions without end; go to another,” and he mentions
some confessor who has the reputation of a more easy disposition: “and
mind, go to his left side, not to his right.” “But why?” demands his
companion. “Oh because he is deaf on the left side, and will not hear
half of what you say. But do not go yet, never go till about noon.” “Why
so?” again demands the other, “because,” continues his more cunning
adviser, “they always get tired, and perhaps hungry about that time, and
wanting to get away, are not half so particular.” He gave us a great
deal more of these representations, with the excuses of people of
different sexes and situations, and all with a great deal of spirit and
humour. It had, to be sure, something of the effect of a comedy, and
made every body laugh, and yet I think it would be remembered. My
companions settled that he was _troppo buffo_, but on talking farther
with them, it seemed to me that they condemned him, because they felt
the sting. After some hymns had been sung, another preacher followed,
with a large crucifix planted by him, to which however he did not
address himself, as is frequently done in Italy. He preached very well,
and gave us a very good sermon, rather commonplace perhaps, about mortal
sins; and by keeping quite in generals, gave every body an opportunity
of admiring him, because nobody applied it to himself. My travelling
companions wondered how I could doubt about the holy house, as so many
miracles had been wrought by it, particularly a well-authenticated story
of a man who had stolen a candlestick, but having sat down with it on
the road, could not get up again. I suggested that these miracles only
took place against petty robbers, and that when the whole was plundered
on a late occasion, the Virgin or her image was quiet. One of the party
seemed very much surprised at the difficulty I made about miracles:
“Why,” says he, “all history is full of miracles.” He began to cite a
number from Livy; and I found that he believed them, just as firmly as
those of his own church. These Italians are brought up among miracles;
their mind, or their fancy, is filled with them from their childhood,
and they would sooner reject all the moral and doctrinal truths of the
Christian religion, than give up their belief in the miraculous
interposition of our Lady of the seven sorrows, or of St. Antony of
Padua. Nor is this much to be wondered at; the gospel is taken for
granted, but the particular merits of a favourite saint require full
exposition, and frequent repetition; the priest dwells on these, and the
multitude forgets that there is anything of more importance. In England,
instead of contending who has the greatest and most miracle-working
saint, we split upon doctrinal points, and sects are formed, but the
process is very similar. The attention is directed to peculiar and
disputable doctrines, generally of little importance, and the great
truths in which nearly all Christians are agreed, are thrown into the
back ground. One would think that persons who could appeal with
confidence to inspired books, would carefully distinguish the doctrines
explicitly laid down in them, from those which are only deduced from
them by the application of human reason, which, however clear it may
appear, is, as we know from experience, abundantly subject to error; but
this is not the case, and in every sect or division of the Christian
world, it is to the strenuous advocate of disputed or disputable
opinions, that the praise of faith is applied.
In the morning of the 13th we left Loreto, and proceeded to Macerata.
The country is hilly, and all of it cultivated, much like that of the
day before, and the trees, though numerous, are of so little
consequence, that the general appearance is rather that of nakedness.
The road lay along the bottom, and exposed here and there a shelly
sandstone, which appeared to me of a very recent formation. I was told
of coal existing not far from Macerata, but pyritous, and in small
quantity; but my informant, an inhabitant of Macerata, assured me that
it was found of good quality, and in considerable beds, in the hills
further to the west.
Just before arriving at Macerata, we pass the remains of a theatre of
considerable size, and of some other adjoining buildings; but as nothing
now exists but vaults and foundations, we cannot determine precisely
what the edifices may have been.
I walked into some of the churches at Macerata, one of which, of an
elliptical form, I thought handsome, and it is adorned with paintings of
considerable merit, but our stay was short.
The approach to, and entrance amongst the mountains about Tolentino, is
very beautiful. It is not Alpine, but high, wooded hills of varied
forms, with a bright stream at the bottom, by which the road afterwards
runs, constitute the charm. As we proceed, the hills become more naked
and lumpy in their forms, instead of bolder and more romantic, as I had
expected. We slept at a little village called Val Cimara, at an inn
where supper and bed were announced on the sign, for 35 bajocs, and in
the following morning continued our route to Serra Valle. The vetturino
system, as I have I believe, told you before, is to make two long stages
per diem, stopping a considerable time at noon, for refreshment to the
horses, and the company. In winter about two hours is allowed for this,
or sometimes three; but in summer they take four or five, that they may
avoid travelling in the hottest part of the day. I walked on from Serra
Valle, which is a pleasant pass among the mountains, in hopes of finding
some fine scenery, thus in the heart of the Apennines; but I was sadly
disappointed; they are here only naked, rounded hills, not very high,
and the road is entirely open, and exposed to a burning sun. There is
plenty of opportunity for walking, in travelling with a vetturino, as we
go only about three and a half, or four English miles per hour, but it
is only by making use of the stopping-time that we can have the
opportunity of observing the country or its productions, or of sketching
the scenery. I passed through a large basin hollow, which seemed to have
no outlet low enough to drain it, and its flat bottom gave it much the
appearance of having been a lake. A little further, another hollow
occurs, of smaller size, not so completely surrounded, and with a marsh
at the bottom, but even here there appeared to be no regular discharge
for the water. When we began to descend, the scenery improved, and
afterwards, on opening on to the flat country about Foligno, became very
beautiful; so that I had walked over decidedly the most uninteresting
part of the passage. I slept at Foligno, and on awaking the next
morning, was surprised to find it broad daylight, and no signs of
departure; I went down into the stable, and soon learned that my
vetturino had made up his mind to stay there all day. The morning was
spent in quarrelling with him, and with the master of the inn, who was
also owner of the carriage and horses, for not performing their bargain.
We had never had our full complement, and the passengers had been
dropping off on the road; in consequence the driver wanted to wait at
every place we came to, in hopes of obtaining passengers; promising to
proceed and not performing; and my journey was a very unpleasant one.
I left Foligno at last at three o’clock in the afternoon, with only one
companion, and we slept at Spoleto; the next morning we set off before
four, and arrived early at Terni, where the driver chose to stop, though
had he really been in earnest, as he pretended to be, about getting to
Rome, he ought to have proceeded to Narni. However, since this was the
case, I determined to make another visit to the cascade, and on
returning found the vetturino waiting for me, not to set off, though the
time fixed for our departure was already past, but to tell me that it
would kill his horses to go on in the heat of the day, and to propose
that I should proceed in a caratella, which would travel post all night,
and get to Rome by the time he had promised me. I do not know when I
have felt so much out of humour, for he had certainly determined from
the first not to proceed, though he had promised to continue his journey
at one o’clock; and if he had told me so on our arrival, although I
wished to get to Rome as soon as I could, yet a few more hours might
have been passed delightfully about the waterfall. He had brought me
back from a place I was reluctant to leave, to one where I had no object
to pursue, and this, only to deceive me. However, after a little
scolding, I went to look at the caratella; it was a sociable, with a
fixed head; the two back seats were comfortable enough, but they were
occupied, and I should have been placed with my back to the horses, on a
very confined and uncomfortable seat, and without any support for my
head. I therefore refused this conveyance, and he then offered me a
little thing with one horse, and after some time, on a promise to be at
Rome at one hour of the night (half-past eight), I agreed. My companion
afterwards told me that he did not like it, and that he had made signs
to me to refuse. I asked him why he did not speak, to which he replied,
“_Sarebbe cosa di farmi amazzare_,” just as if the comfort of the
journey were not as much his affair as mine. In fact we got on very
badly, as the horse was, according to the driver’s phrase, _lunatico_,
that is, subject to fits of obstinacy, and withal exceedingly dull. We
had about three hours sleep at Otricoli. At La Storta, the last post
from Rome, where we stopt to refresh the horse, I desired a room in
which I might wash myself a little, before eating; they showed me into
one which opened from the saloon, and leaving my jacket there for a few
minutes, while I was in the saloon, I was robbed of two gold Napoleons:
I thought no one could have entered the chamber without my seeing them,
but I afterwards observed another door, which appeared to be fastened,
and which the chambermaid assured me was walled up. I insisted on having
the door opened that I might see the wall, or else that I should be
conducted into the apartment with which it had formerly communicated.
The landlady poured forth all sorts of abuse for my unjust suspicions,
and impertinent curiosity; it was her bed-room, and what business had I
to spy into all her secrets: but after a hard and long contest, I
obtained my point, and found an unoccupied chamber; and instead of a
wall, there was only a slight bolt, which I drew back with ease and
without noise, and opened the door. As soon as I arrived at Rome, I made
a written report of all these circumstances to the police, with a plan,
to show the disposition of the rooms, and recovered the money without
any reduction.
The summer amusements at Rome are not very captivating, there is a bad
theatre about three times per week, where the entrance to the pit is six
bajocs (3¼_d._). _Marionette_, entrance to the pit, one bajoc, to the
boxes, two: then there is the Giuoco di Pallone, the looking at which
may entertain one occasionally for a little time. There is now an
advertisement posted up in the streets, addressed to the learned people
of Rome, and offering them for two bajocs a spectacle both pleasing and
instructive, in various physical machines, exhibiting in their proper
colours the sacred history. Then on Sundays, and sometimes also on
Saturdays, is a bull-fight in the Mausoleum of Augustus; and afterwards
music and fireworks in the same place. I went to see one of these
bull-fights, and found it less cruel than I expected. The chief part of
it consisted in letting out a bull, or a cow, or a buffalo, into the
arena, where about half a dozen men with red flags stood ready for it;
the animal ran at the flag, and the man slipt on one side, and then kept
provoking it to renewed attacks, very much like a parcel of boys
exposing themselves to be caught at play by one of their companions, and
not with much more danger. When the animal is tired, they drive him back
into his stable and take another. Two or three were worried with dogs,
and in this the sentiment excited was merely that of cruelty; but the
mischief, on the day when I was there, was not great. The animals seemed
all willing to be quiet, and all the excitement that could be given,
only roused them to temporary acts of offence. In the middle of the
arena there was a figure suspended to a rope, which the bull hardly ever
condescended to notice; and a little figure bobbed up and down, from a
hole in the ground, and disappeared whenever the animal ran at it. The
last part of the exhibition consisted in an attempt to pluck off a small
plate, or medal, tied on to the forehead of one of the most savage
animals, and here certainly was a great display of address, activity,
and perseverance. I have more sympathy with these qualities in men than
in dogs, but I do not feel any wish to repeat the visit.
I wish I could transplant you for five minutes into the great
coffee-house here, at about seven o’clock on a Sunday evening. It is
frequented by ladies of all ranks as well as by gentlemen, the rich take
their servants; there must, I think, sometimes be two thousand people
eating ices, and the waiters and servants bustling about, and making as
much noise as possible. The principal room is about seventy feet long,
and there are four others filled with company, and beyond these a suite
of billiard rooms, and generally in one of them, people playing a game
like bowls, on the billiard table. These rooms occupy the whole extent
of the Palazzo Ruspoli, extending, I suppose, two hundred and fifty feet
along the Corso. Behind, there is a garden, about one hundred and twenty
feet square, (all these dimensions are guesses) shaded with orange trees
and oleanders, and also full of company.
LETTER XLI.
ACADEMIES.
_Rome, August, 1817._
IT is reported here, that the Pope has offered a palace to the Prince
Regent for the purpose of receiving an English academy. The French, you
know, have an excellent establishment here on a large scale, occupying
the house of the Villa Medici. They have dwelling-rooms for the
students, and workshops for such as require them; a suite of apartments
for the director; a common dining-room; a handsome suite for the public
exhibitions; and a fine gallery of casts. An English establishment might
be formed on a much less expensive plan. It would not be necessary, or
even desirable, to maintain the students; but if it were in
contemplation to provide any further assistance of that sort, beyond
what is now done by the Royal Academy, it would be better to supply it
from a perfectly distinct fund. The most essential requisite is a point
of union, and the facility of reference, which would be obtained by a
library, and a collection of casts; and two or three thousand pounds at
first, and ten or twelve hundred per annum afterward, would be amply
sufficient for every useful purpose. An institution on a much more
moderate scale than even the one above mentioned, and such as would be
within the reach of many English gentlemen, would be a very great
advantage, and the patron would immortalize himself by it. A library is
the most important object, and the necessary attendance on it, the most
expensive one; but by properly availing oneself of the assistance of the
students, that might be much diminished. We must in this case give up
any idea of a librarian who should be capable of directing their
studies. His duty would be merely to take care of the books, and there
are many very competent persons in Rome who could execute this office,
and attend at stated times for very little remuneration; not perhaps
English, but Germans or Italians; and in this way a sum of five hundred
pounds for the commencement, and from two to three hundred per annum,
would accomplish the most important objects. New books are of more
consequence than old, both because the student ought to be pretty well
acquainted with the latter before he visits Italy; and because they are
to be found in the Roman libraries, where a new book seldom enters.
Books of established merit are the next things to be procured; then
architectural casts; the productions of sculpture are so much more
accessible, and conveniently situated for the student, than those of
architecture, that casts of the latter are of prior importance. But
though the students in sculpture will prefer copying the originals,
casts of the finest statues must not be neglected, with the opportunity
of displaying them in different positions, and under different lights.
----------------------------
1826.
In the winter of 1821 the English artists who resided at Rome
established an evening academy for the purpose of studying from the
living model, defraying the expenses by occasional subscriptions among
themselves. The advantages of such an institution were felt and valued,
and the interest with which the artists regarded their infant academy,
was communicated to many of their countrymen. Subscriptions were raised,
and the Royal Academy gave both their sanction and assistance. The
object of the institution was not merely to provide accommodation for
the students who happened to be at Rome at the time of its formation,
but to found a permanent school for the benefit of British artists,
where they might pursue their studies unimpeded by the inconveniences
attending crowded schools, and without being indebted to the liberality
of foreign institutions. It was therefore resolved to defray the current
expenses, as nearly as possible, from the interest of the money
subscribed, and this now amounts to 331 scudi per annum, which is
sufficient to cover the expenses, on the present very small scale. But
in its actual state, though highly useful, it must still be acknowledged
to be very insufficient. It possesses one cast, that of the Apollo; a
few books, but no library, nor indeed any room in which either that, or
a collection of casts, could be placed. The rent of a suitable range of
apartments would alone swallow up twice the whole income of the academy.
However, as additional subscriptions are obtained every year, the fund
continues slowly to increase, and I trust will continue to do so till
the whole is placed in a state worthy of the English nation. It is
peculiarly a national concern, for the artist who has exerted himself
the most for its prosperity, leaves Rome in a year or two, and reaps no
other advantage from his labours, than the reflection of having
contributed something to the common good.
----------------------------
1817.
The Roman Academy occupies an extensive building,[19] and seems in
general to be well regulated; there are four professors; of ornamental
architecture; of perspective; of the theory of architecture; and of the
practice; and I believe each professor gives a lesson or a lecture twice
a week. Among the students, the first year is supposed to be employed in
elementary architecture; the second in copying plans, elevations,
sections, and other architectural drawings; and the four following in
the theory and practice of architecture. As at Paris, a programma, or
subject for design, is given out about once a month, which the students
study at home, and bring their labours to the professor for his
criticisms and corrections; and once a year a more elaborate production
is required, and a silver medal given to each of those, who execute
their task with care and ability.
The standard work on the orders, in the Roman, and I believe, in all the
academies of France and Italy, is that of Giacomo Barozzi da Vignola,
which perhaps is hardly so good in that respect as the publication of
Sir William Chambers; but there is no writer who has accomplished a
greater revolution in architecture in Italy, than Milizia, and his
influence is felt everywhere, though we hardly know his name in England.
He has written his own life, and as it is very short, and very
characteristic, I will give it to you.
“Every body ought to write the history of his own life, in order to
incite himself continually to mend it, and in order to furnish to
posterity something of the present time which may be depended on. On
this account, I who have written so many lives, now write a sketch of my
own. I was born at Oria, a little town in the Terra di Otranto, in the
kingdom of Naples, in 1725. I was the only son of the richest, and
noblest family of the hamlet. At nine years old I was taken to Padua,
where an uncle of mine, who had been driven from home by some youthful
errors, exercised the profession of medicine. There I studied the belles
lettres to very little purpose, and after seven years, ran away from
Padua, on account of some reproofs received from my uncle, and wandered
to Bobbio, near Piacenza, whence I wrote to my parents; and after going
to Pavia and Milan, I came to Rome, where my father met me. He conducted
me to Naples, and left me to continue my studies at that capital. I
studied a little of logic and metaphysics under the celebrated Abate
Genovese, and natural philosophy and geometry under Padre Orlandi, a
Celestine monk. But I ran away also from Naples, prompted by a desire to
see the world, and especially France, but was obliged to turn back again
from Leghorn for want of money. I then returned home to Oria, where,
after a long continuance of an idle and heedless life, I retired into a
country house to study the sciences. At last, at the age of twenty-five,
I married a lady of Gallipoli, of a good family and an agreeable
disposition; and there I fixed myself, with some application to books,
but more to pleasure.
“Having obtained a more comfortable provision from my father, I came
with my wife to Rome, and after remaining there a year and a half,
returned to Gallipoli for another year, and then fixed myself at Rome.
Here I have continued to study, and took a fancy to architecture without
being able to draw. Enamoured of this art, which I think the most
beautiful, and most useful of all, I wrote the _Lives of the most
celebrated Architects_, which was well received by the public, though
the criticisms were severe and the style unpolished.