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nations no longer pay her homage, and the Moslem "hath broken the crown of her head."

At the hotel which Moreau had recommended I found good apartments, and, having engaged the services of a valet de place, desired him to conduct me to St. Mark's. We traversed the narrow lanes leading to the Piazza, jostling the busy crowd that was hurrying on, earnestness in every face, and importance in every voice that gabbled by us. When at the outside of the Piazza, I dismissed my servant for the night, and, passing on beneath the dark arches, emerged upon the interesting scene. The grand fantastic façade of the church of St. Mark spread out its majestic grandeur at the opposite side of the square: the Campanile pointed its darkly-shadowed spire to the clear deep blue above, which was richly set with stars; the uniform architecture of the square was distinctly visible in the evening's light; and in the illumination of the shops and cafés, all of which were lit up, and displayed in almost daylight distinctness the many, many groups, the crowds of persons engaged in conversation, promenading up and down the more vacant spaces, or thronging round the military band who, with their musicstands fixed in a large circle, were playing the most charming airs. I was alone in this, to me, novel scene of splendour, luxury, and beauty. The glories of the night above were again reflected in the sleeping waters of the Adriatic. The thought that I was indeed in Venice was itself a delight to me: Venice, the frequent vision of my youthful fancy, peopled with the grand and terrible realities of history and the glorious and touching fictions of romance and poetry. It was a sort of spiritual intoxication I experienced, yet, with every sense thus gratified, there was a strange overcast of melancholy in the thought that this enjoyment was so soon to end and never again to be renewed.

My time in Venice, limited to one short week, was thriftily employed. Here, as in every city throughout my tour, I gave one or two hours a day to a tutor engaged to assist me in my study of the language, with which I very soon grew familiar. The rest of the day was spent among the splendid works of art that court inspection in the galleries, churches, and palaces adorning this singular city, that begin their date

with the Horses of Lysippus, and, satiating the entranced spectator with the masterpieces of Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, &c., come down to the Hebe of Canova on view in the Grimani Palace. In Byron's words I was "dazzled and drunk with beauty," and moving as in a dream made up of memories and associations. The creations of Shakespeare rose up before me on the Rialto; and the Hall of Council, indeed, haunted me at every step. The tombs of the Doges, the Giant's Staircase, the Place of the Lion's Mouth, the Bridge of Sighs, the dark curtain inscribed with Faliero's doom, recalled the tales of suffering that historians have recorded and poets have intensified. I neglected nothing that untiring industry enabled me to see; the luxurious cushions of my gondola affording me repose and amusement in my transit from place to place.

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There was only one theatre then open, and some of my evenings were passed there. The building was neither spacious nor handsome; the performances not of a very high order. One evening there was a translation or, I should rather say, an adaptation of Sheridan's School for Scandal,' in which an English playgoer would have found difficulty in recognising the original. In a kind of romantic drama, reminding me in some scenes of the beautiful parable of the Prodigal Son, and in others of Schiller's Robbers,' there was much power. It was tolerably acted and vehemently applauded. The chief actor, a young and well-favoured man, appeared to rely solely on his energy and sensibility for success. He did not appear to have bestowed a thought upon the influence that birth, or age, or country might have produced on the expression of passion. How unlike the probing research of Talma! There was no character; no difference in his several performances beyond the dress he wore; nor did he seem to have made grace in the least degree the object of his study, though surrounded, as the student is here, with so many monitors of its power. With so many models to guide the pupil in his attainment of elegance, the decency of gesture on this stage seemed utterly disregarded. A jerking, confined movement of the actor's arms, a constant ungraceful shifting of the legs, offended the eye of taste; but with all his faults, his want of repose, of grace, and discrimination of

The news of Canova's death arrived while I was in Venice. I had a letter of introduction to him and hoped to see him in Rome.




character (for he was always the representative of himself), this player from his single earnestness and ardency took a strong hold on the feelings of his auditors. In the excess of rage or agony of grief he would almost shriek, and his voice would reach a degree of shrillness that threatened to endanger his retention of sympathy, but, the moment of peril once successfully passed, the effect produced was powerful and even terrible. The studious artist will "gather honey from the weed," deriving instruction from the imperfections of others, and in this clever actor's performances the lesson impressed was the enforcement of Shakespeare's injunction-" In the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of your passion, to acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness."

The days to which my sojourn here was restricted having rapidly passed away, my departure for Florence could no longer be delayed. My friend Moreau bad been faithful to his promise, and my course was shaped in agreement with his instructions. It was dark when I arrived at the palace degraded now to the Office for Diligences, where I was to embark for Chioggia. When I entered the filthy packet that was to convey me from Venice, the moon had not yet risen, but the blue sky was richly spangled with stars, and the frequent lights from the palaces and buildings on the Great Canal gave the scene a most lustrous and imposing effect. These, reflected in the water, and the lamps of the gondolas sometimes gliding slowly along, now darting like shooting-stars across the sight like spirits on the waters, all make this sea-born city a place of enchantment. How very regretfully I saw the vessel pass the magnificent structures that embank the canal! I spread my cloak and pillow on the deck, and lay along, looking alternately from the bright heaven above-where now the moon, "apparent queen," was shiningto the waters, the islands, the banks, and sea-marks we were slowly passing, and with a heavy heart bade a long, a last adieu to Venice, bearing with me recollections of delight that time cannot efface or weaken. At Ferrara, which I reached by packet-boats on the Adige and the Po, my stay was short, enabling me to see no other objects of interest than the prison of Tasso, the tomb, house, and MSS. of Ariosto, and the heavy mass of the Ducal Palace, rendered more gloomy by the remembrance of Lord Byron's 'Parisina.' Thence to Bologna,

where the sculptures of John of Bologna, and the works of the Caracci school, especially the pictures by Domenichino and Guido, would have recompensed weeks of study; but two days were all I had to give to this noble city. The square leaning tower appeared to me a most unsightly object, calculated to excite, perhaps, surprise and wonder in some, but awakening no feeling of pleasure in the true lover of art.

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In my progress through the streets of the city, my curiosity was aroused by the sight of a woman very respectably dressed in mourning, with a black thick veil enveloping her person and completely hiding her face, seated on a low slab or stool; her head bowed down implied distress, but the decency of her appearance did not warrant at first view the idea of utter indigence. On inquiring into the cause of her long continuance in the same place and posture, I was told that she was una mendicante vergognosa;" that it was a privilege authorized by long custom for an unfriended woman, overtaken by calamity and under the pressure of poverty, to resort for one day to this mode of exciting the commiseration of the benevolent, concealing her name and person; but that beyond the day she was not entitled to the indulgence. It struck me as a custom that, in its tenderness to misfortune, had something of delicacy in it, affording the sufferer a chance of relief without the humiliation of exposure.

At a day theatre, in which the spectators sat in the open. air, an Italian version of Voltaire's 'Zaire' was performed. I arrived only in time to see the last act. The Orasmin was a bulky, drowsy caricature of the impassioned Sultan of Jerusalem, but the Zaire displayed grace and feeling that made me regret the loss of her earlier scenes. It was at Bologna that I saw, for the only time in my life, the "giuoco del ballone." I paid an admission fee to the court; the players were three or four on a side, and certainly astonished me by the extraordinary strength, dexterity, and agility they displayed.





1822. Florence-Fiesole-Sir Robert Comyn-Naples-Eruption of Vesuvius -Pompeii-Pæstum - Herculaneum - William Etty- Rome ParmaMilan-Pantomimic acting-Turin — Geneva-Paris-Talma in ‘Sylla.'

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My journey over the Apennines by velturino was made in company of a most repulsive description, and under a degree of temperature that, greatly heightening the disagreeableness of my fellow-passengers, made Florence a haven of delight, as I took possession of airy rooms in my comfortable hotel on the Lung' Arno. Before setting out next morning on my daily tour of observation, I was surprised by the servant's delivery of a small packet with my name inscribed, the bearer waiting for an answer. Who could possibly know me in Florence? was my immediate thought. I was as much amused, as I had been surprised, on opening the packet, which contained a little MS. book, very legibly and carefully written; the first page of which I copy verbatim:

"On the auspicious arrival in Florence of most distinct and illustrious noble gentleman, Sir William Macready, England, the accademician and poet, Laurence Vallazani, in testimony of his dutiful respect, presents to your gentleman, with the most sincere desire, his following poetical compositions, with hopes that your gentleman will not disdain to place them under your powerful protection, and flatters himself that, with the usual generosity of your gentleman, will not fail to be rewarded."

This was the introduction of three sonnets in Italian, the first of which, "Pel felice arrivo in Firenze," began thus:

"Almo Signor, questa città di Flora

Lieta e contenta e più dell' usato,

Poiche l'aspetto grave e insiem ben grato,

Di tua gentil presenza oggi l'onora."

Inquiring how much would qualify me as a worthy Maecenas of



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