There are several churches at Ravenna of the fifth and sixth centuries, a period, whose architectural productions are very rare. At the beginning of the fifth century this city became the capital of the western empire, and as it was also the seat of government of the Ostrogoths, and afterwards of the Exarchs, it must have enjoyed a pretty long period of comparative prosperity, when every thing else was in ruin. Yet we have by no means a long series of dates in these remains. The Empress Galla Placidia, sister of Honorius and Arcadius, seems to have built a good deal between 425 and 450, the year of her death. Afterwards, Theodoric, who reigned here from 492 to 526, embellished the city with the best edifices the times were capable of producing; and the impulse given to architecture seems to have lasted about twenty years after his death. You are indeed shewn a church, San Vittore, which pretends to be of the early part of the fourth century, but what remains of it, even if its history were true, is a mere barn, without character. The interval which elapsed between the first and last of the churches of this period, which still remain tolerably perfect, was not accompanied with any change of style: the ancient basilican form, consisting of three naves, divided by two ranges of columns supporting arches, prevailed in most of them. Above the arches is a high wall with narrow windows, fewer in number than the arches below, and rarely corresponding with them in position: the roof was of timber, and not concealed from view; and the middle nave terminates in a semicircular recess covered with mosaics, forming the apsis. They are much like St. Paul’s at Rome, but on a reduced scale, and with only one range of columns on each side, or perhaps they are rather more like some of the smaller of the ancient churches in that city. Such is the church of the Spirito Santo, built probably early in the sixth century, which owes its name to a tradition, that on this spot, the eleven immediate successors of St. Apollinaris, first bishop of Ravenna, were chosen by the visible agency of the Holy Ghost, which descended on them successively in the form of a dove. The columns here are of beautiful materials, but of bad workmanship. I think not however, worse than those of Constantine’s time. Architecture seems to have lost more in the twenty years between Dioclesian and Constantine, than in the two hundred between the latter emperor and Theodoric; but perhaps I should find, had I the means of a closer investigation, that I had been deceived in attributing to the earliest of these three periods, columns and ornaments which had once formed part of some earlier edifice. If however, we do not observe in the workmanship, any very distinct marks of difference between the productions of the fourth and sixth centuries, we do in the design of the ornamental parts; the capitals and mouldings in the latter being much more fanciful. In the time of Constantine the architects seem to have copied the antique, though very badly. Under Theodoric they abandoned it wantonly, and we find frequent indications of the whimsical style of capital which afterwards prevailed in the Gothic. In the same building, however, each capital is alike, or at least intended to be so. A block from which the arch springs is uniformly placed over the capital; it is in the shape of the inverted frustum of a pyramid, but not perfectly regular, as it generally slopes more on the front and back than on the sides. In the early Saxon architecture, (I use this incorrect term for want of a better) a block is sometimes found above the capital, to support the springing of the arch, but it is in the shape of a thickened abacus, and has sometimes dentils or mouldings, which show it to be a degradation of the whole entablature; at St. Mark’s, at Venice, and at Ravenna, it is evidently a stone block, without any relation to the parts of the ancient order.

The arrangement of this church, or I may say generally of these churches, is far from displeasing; they are light, and in some degree elegant; and they would be much more so if the details were better; and if they were not injured by modern chapels and restorations of a very different taste. The plan leads the eye to the high altar, and to the large niche enriched with mosaics and gilding, in front of which it stands.

The earliest remaining church of this style at Ravenna, if we may believe Beltrami, (Il forestiere instruito delle cose notabili della città di Ravenna) is that of Santa Agata Maggiore, which was completed about the year 417. Here again, are columns of granite and rich marbles, with the same general design, and the same mode of finishing. The columns are of unequal heights, and the impost blocks are also unequal, but not so as to reduce the springing of the arches to one level. Indeed, even these blocks seem to be the spoils of an earlier building. The height of the nave is about equal to its width, which is hardly as much as it ought to be. There seems at one time to have been a fashion at Ravenna, to introduce monograms among the ornaments of the blocks over the capitals. We have in this church the earliest example, and the latest in San Vitale, which was built in 534. What names they were intended to commemorate is very uncertain, as each writer on the subject forms a new conjecture of his own. The following is at Santa Agata,

and Montfaucon makes out from it the words Titus Cornelius Nepos, and Zirardini, an antiquary of Ravenna, Petrus Episcopus. You will conceive, that inscriptions which may be interpreted so differently, are perfect enigmas, from which nothing can be learned; but it appears to me that both these learned men are decidedly wrong, since the monogram contains an F, and no E. The pulpit of this church is of a single piece of marble, and seems to have been cut out of one drum of a fluted column, about five feet and a half in diameter. It is supposed to have been some ornamental or monumental column, for Ravenna does not boast any ancient edifice which would require a column of that size.

San Giovanni della Sagra was built in 425 by Galla Placidia, in consequence of a vow she had made, when, having been overtaken by a storm in returning from Constantinople, she was saved from shipwreck by the intercession of St. John the evangelist. After it was built, the lady sought far and wide for some relic of the tutelar saint, but in vain. Her confessor, St. Barbaziano, proposed that they should pass a night in prayer in the new church, in order to obtain of the Lord by miracle, what human means had failed to procure. During the night St. John appeared in pontifical vestments, with a censer in his hand, incensing the temple and the altar; St. Barbaziano saw him first, and knowing him for the beloved disciple of our Saviour, pointed him out to the empress, who with great joy ran to throw herself on her knees before him, and to embrace his feet. The saint immediately vanished, leaving behind him the sandal of his right foot. The empress having thus obtained the desired relic, deposited it somewhere in the church, but the precise spot is unknown. The story is represented in sculpture over the principal entrance, and as this doorway is a production of the pointed architecture of the thirteenth century, we may obtain an approximation to the date of the legend. I admire, however, the modesty which refrained from producing the sacred relic. The church itself was of the usual form, with marble columns, and a great niche adorned with mosaics; but the mosaics are gone, and the nave has been a good deal modernized.

San Francesco is another church of the same disposition, which has undergone a similar treatment; this seems also of the time of Galla Placidia. Sant Apollinare Nuovo, which deserves the first place among these buildings for its magnitude and decorations, is a foundation of Theodoric, but the choir is comparatively modern. It has, according to Beltrami, the sort of portico called Ardica, a word derived from the Greek ναρθεξ, but I do not understand precisely in what its peculiarity consists. It is formed by means of groined arches supported on columns. Internally, this church seems to have been in every respect more highly finished than any of the others. The windows are more numerous, and there is a continued moulding under them. The nave terminates in a large ornamented arch, and the walls are adorned with mosaics, some of the heads in which have a good deal of character. One of these mosaics represents the front of the palace of Theodoric; three large, but unequal arches in the centre, support a pediment, and a range of smaller and lower arches extends on each side. All the arches rest on columns, and veils hang between the columns. This has no sort of resemblance to the fragment still remaining, of which I shall speak by and by, but perhaps that was no part of the front.

The last church of this style in date, and the last I shall give you any account of, is that of St. Apollinaris, at Classe, about three miles from Ravenna. Classis seems to have been the station of the Roman fleet, and to have formed, with Ravenna proper and Cæsarea, one great city. It was adorned, we are told, with magnificent public edifices, and with numerous churches. Nothing, however, now remains, except this church, with its bell-tower; and a few of the buildings of the convent. St. Apollinaris was the beloved disciple of St. Peter. He was the apostle and teacher of the people of Ravenna, and the church was built upon the ruins of the temple of Apollo. It is a pity that this gives a sort of double occasion to the name, and throws a doubt on both stories. The building was erected by order of Justinian, and consecrated by the archbishop St. Maximian in the year 549. The columns which support the nave are of very beautiful Greek marble. The windows are in pairs, few and small; each pair is seen externally in an arched recess, of which there is a series, both in the clerestory, and in the aisles below. The latter were probably connected with the portico, which returned along the sides of the church, as well as occupying the front, but these lateral parts are now destroyed. To return to the inside: the columns are valuable for their materials alone: they are badly worked, and the capitals are very rude and clumsy imitations of those of the Composite order. The height of the nave is about a quarter more than the width; and the proportion is very good. The aisles are very wide, and I believe this contributes to the light and agreeable appearance of the building. In the nave, the walls are mostly whitewashed; but the tribune or apsis is covered with mosaics, as is the arch in front of it. Whitewash is not an agreeable finish anywhere, but this disposition of it is at least better than that which I have complained of in the Florentine churches. There is a representation of the transfiguration in the tribune, which, if it do not in itself possess much merit either of design or execution, is nevertheless curious, as an attempt of that period, to express an historical fact, instead of the mere upright unemployed figures of saints usually exhibited in these mosaics. Indeed, Ravenna is quite the place to study the architecture and painting of these two centuries, but I doubt if it can shew any sculpture. Sant Apollinare is rich in sarcophagi and inscribed marbles, but I allowed myself there much too short a time. In fact, I almost always have to lament, after leaving a city of much interest, that I had passed through it too hastily.

I shall now proceed to some other religious edifices, in which this general arrangement was not observed. The Baptistery is an octagonal building almost covered with mosaics, and containing also some bas-reliefs in stucco, perhaps not of the same date. It has a number of little columns of pavonazetto, bigio antico, and marmo greco, taken from ancient edifices. Externally, there is a small square opening above the door, which is also square-headed; and above, each face presents two double-headed windows. The date of the building is supposed to be that of the ancient cathedral now destroyed, that is, the latter end of the fourth century: the mosaic is attributed to an archbishop Neone, who lived about the year 430. It covers the dome, as well as most of the walls. The baptism of our Saviour in the Jordan by St. John, is represented on the former, and the river-god seems also to be introduced into the composition. As is usual in the ancient baptisteries, there was originally preparation for baptism by immersion, but like most of the other buildings at Ravenna, it has been filled up two or three feet, in order to be above the water, of which the soil is full. It seems at first sight as if the removal of the sea from Ravenna should have made the ground drier, but a little reflection will convince us that the contrary must be the case, as the sea continuing on the same level, the water has farther to run before it can discharge itself, and for water thus to drain itself through the earth, a considerable inclination is necessary.

The Church of Santa Maria in Cosmedim, or at least the ancient part of it, was also a baptistery. It was appropriated to the use of the Arians, between whom and the Catholics, or rather the Athanasians, there was nothing in common. The lower part has been modernized, but the mosaic of the dome still remains. On this also is represented the Baptism of our Saviour, with the right hand of the baptist on his head, as if to press him gently into the water. This and other mosaics at Ravenna have been published by Campini, Vet. Monim.

The Church of San Vitale is another octagonal building which was quite the boast of its age. It was begun by Julianus Argentarius, in conjunction with Saint Ecclesio, who lived about 534, and consecrated by St. Maximian, who lived in the middle of the sixth century. Eight piers support as many arches; between the piers are semicircular recesses of two stories, each story having two columns, between which and the principal piers are three arches. The spaces between these columns, on the lower part, open into the side aisles, in the upper, into a gallery. Above the principal arches, the building becomes circular, and terminates in a dome, which for the purpose of lightness is constructed of empty earthen pots. I have already mentioned some instances of this sort of work at Rome; there are other examples at Ravenna, but this is the most perfect, and the most interesting. The pots are of two sorts: those forming the dome are small and twisted; and beginning horizontally, have the point of one inserted in the mouth of the preceding, in a continued spiral. The others, which partially fill the spandrils, are larger, twisted only at the point, and placed vertically. The form of the lower part of the building, and consequently of the general circuit of the edifice, appears to be irregular; and the ancient entrance opposite the recess for the altar, having been shut up on the erection of the annexed monastery, the present is disadvantageously opened on one side. The building is highly, but unequally enriched with marbles and historical mosaics; and contains some ancient bas-reliefs and inscriptions. Several monograms are sculptured on the impost blocks, the search after whose meaning has long been the amusement of the antiquaries of Ravenna. Most of them however still remain without even a probable guess at the explanation. The lower columns of the seven semicircular recesses are of Greek marble, and very well wrought, except two or three; all the upper ones are ill executed. We may be sure that those which are well formed were taken from older buildings, but not quite so certain that all the ill-made ones were formed originally for this. The effect of this whimsical architecture is very striking. The architect has produced a great deal of beauty quite out of all the usual rules; not so much perhaps, as if he had employed his taste and talents in a more correct style, but still in sufficient degree to make his work an object deserving the study of future architects, which a handsomer building might not have been. Singularity often merits examination, when it by no means deserves imitation.

A little church in the shape of a cross, dedicated to Sts. Nazarus and Celsus, forms the Sepulchre of Galla Placidia, who built it in her lifetime. It is about 40 feet long, and 32 in the transept; the arms being about 14 feet wide. The walls were once covered with marbles; these have disappeared, but all the vaulting is still covered with figures and arabesques in mosaic. On each side of the nave a plain marble sarcophagus is incrusted in the wall; and there is a larger one, adorned with sculpture, at each end of the transept; but the largest of all, which stands at the head of the cross, and once contained the bones of the empress herself, is quite plain, having been, as is supposed, originally covered with metal. There is said to have been a small window at the back of this chest, through which, in 1577, some children put a lighted candle, and the clothes and body of the empress were thereby consumed; on which account it was shut up; but I could discern no trace of its existence.

A far more curious tomb is that of Theodoric, which stands a little way out of Ravenna. The building is decagonal below, and circular on the upper part: the decagon of the basement is somewhat larger than the superior edifice. Each face has a deep recess, covered with a semicircular arch, whose stones are notched into one another. This basement is now half buried, and the water stands in it: an oblique flight of steps on each side of the division which faces the approach, conducts us to the upper story. This has also ten sides externally on the lower part, but is circular within. Each side, except that which contains the door, has two square-headed recesses, and each recess is placed under an arch, the support of which is not carried down to the ground, but projects from the face of the work. In front of these recesses and arches, tradition says that there has been a range of columns, but I could discern no certain traces of such an ornament, and the space to receive them, arising from the projection of the basement beyond the upper part of the edifice, is very narrow for such a purpose. The work looks unfinished, and I have no doubt that something more than what at present exists was either executed or intended, but I cannot form any probable conjecture of what it was. Immediately over these arches there is a broad circular band, above which all the work is circular. This band is interrupted by the vault-stones, forming a straight arch above the door, which are very curiously notched together, and there is nevertheless a small opening between these and the cornice and architrave below, made in order that the latter might not be in any danger of being broken by the settlement of the arch. The mouldings round the doorway are small and confused. Above the circular band we find a plain face of wall, with some small windows irregularly disposed, and then a massive cornice, of really a very fine character, and well adapted to a sepulchral building; and this solidity of character is well preserved throughout the edifice, but the range of little columns, if it ever existed, must have formed a singular contrast. The inside is a plain circular room, with a niche opposite the door, apparently for an altar, but the present altar is modern. The most wonderful part of the building is the roof, of which I have purposely avoided speaking till the last. It is a dome, the internal diameter of which is thirty,^[17] the external thirty-five and a half^[18] English feet, formed entirely out of one enormous stone; a crack now divides it into two very unequal parts, which is attributed to a stroke of lightning; and its form and irregularity clearly announce it to have taken place after the stone was raised, though it may have happened during the settlement of the mass into its new situation. On the inside, the depth of the part hollowed out is ten feet, the whole thickness of the original stone about fourteen feet, the thickness at the edges two feet nine inches. I will not pledge myself for the minute accuracy of these dimensions, but none of them can err more than two or three inches. The weight of such a stone, even reckoning sixteen cubic feet to the ton, must considerably exceed two hundred tons. On the outside are twelve large, perforated projections, which doubtless served as so many handles in raising it, and which are perhaps favourable to its general appearance. Some names upon these have led to the notion that they supported the statues of eight apostles and the four evangelists, but as their upper surface is not level, this could hardly have been the case. It is perhaps more probable that these names were given to the engines, or perhaps to the windlasses, one to each handle, used in raising this enormous mass. There is a little projection on the summit, which is now surmounted merely with an iron cross; but a sarcophagus, or bath of porphyry, at present standing in front of the palace of Theodoric, is said originally to have occupied the situation. The stone, of which the lower parts of the edifice are composed, is a light-coloured limestone, of a fracture between earthy and slaty, abounding in petrifactions. The roof is described by the earlier authors as of granite, by Beltrami and the later ones, it is said to be of the same quality as the rest of the building; but viewed from below, it has the appearance of a dark gray sandstone, unlike the walls both in grain and colour.

A fragment still remains, which is known by tradition as the Palace of Theodoric. It forms a little symmetrical façade in three parts; the centre has an arched gateway in the lower part, and over this a large niche, with a triple entrance at the back. The sides are recessed, terminating above in four arches, which are supported in each on three columns, and these rest upon as many corbels. The capitals are Gothic imitations of the Corinthian, but in the disposition, we may trace a similarity to the taste of Dioclesian’s palace at Spalatro.

One monastery at Ravenna has been appropriated to the purposes of a public library and museum. The former is said to contain fifty thousand volumes. The museum contains a few objects of natural history, a few antiquities, a few casts for the use of the academy, and a few paintings. If this does not sound very magnificently, you must recollect that the establishment is young, and that Ravenna is no longer a flourishing city. You may abuse the Italians as you please, but can you shew me any country where, under similar circumstances of prosperity or decay, equal public spirit has been exhibited? Ravenna contains a memorial of how much this public spirit has frequently degenerated into party spirit, which are more nearly allied than it is pleasant to allow, the tomb of Dante; certainly one of the greatest, boldest, and most original geniuses of modern days, but who, exiled by a party from his native Florence, employed his wonderful talents in devoting to Hell and infamy his political enemies, and placing in Paradise, or in the way there, all his own party, however morally reprehensible.

I have led you through Ravenna without saying a word to you about the Cathedral. This was a magnificent building, erected towards the end of the fourth century, having double side aisles, supported on fifty-six columns of various marbles; but all this is past, and the modern building was raised in 1734 by the archbishop Maffeo Niccolò Farsetti, at his own expense. These instances of individuals laying out great sums in public buildings are much more common in Italy than anywhere else; we could not produce one such edifice to their twenty. I am sorry the architecture is not as praiseworthy as the act. It contains two very beautiful frescos by Guido; the other churches are not rich in paintings, but there are some good ones in the private galleries.

The Campanile is all that remains of the old building, or rather perhaps it was an intermediate erection of about the eleventh century. It has several points of resemblance with the baptistery. But it hardly deserves a particular description.

I left Ravenna on the sixth for Rimini; the road lies through the Pineta, a flat sandy tract near the shore, covered with stone pines (Pinus pinea). The bushes, where there are any, are so low that the eye looks over them, and the foliage of the pines never descends low enough to unite with them. The scenery in consequence wants the variety of a deciduous forest; yet it would afford some good studies, and as the sea is said to make several little harbours, these would probably present home scenes of considerable beauty. This wood extends twenty-five miles from the river Lamon, one of the mouths of the Po, to the city of Cervia; its greatest width is three miles. It belongs almost entirely to the regular ecclesiastics, and produces annually about two thousand rubbii of cones (2,034 quarters) and affords a considerable revenue.

I breakfasted, or dined, as you please, at eleven o’clock at Cesenatico, and then continued my journey to Rimini. My guide on the way amused me with a long story of a family of several brothers and one sister, who haunted the Pineta as robbers; the brothers were all taken or killed, and at last the sister was taken and calzelata. I puzzled my head to think why they should give her shoes, and whether any punishment by means of iron slippers, or something of that sort, could be in use; and it was not till he had repeated the words several times that I found calzelata meant carcerata, and it seems here that the r is commonly changed into l; while on the other side of the Apennines, the l is frequently changed into r.

Rimini contains a bridge which is attributed to the time of Augustus. It is well built, as you may imagine, since it has lasted so long, and apparently, as to the solid mass of the work, with hardly any repairs; but it is not handsome, nor are the ornaments and mouldings well chosen. My driver assured me that it was erected by the Devil, St. Julian having promised him his own soul as a reward; but the saint was the greater knave of the two, and cheated his adversary out of the bargain. There is also a triumphal arch, the pediment of which, like that of Drusus at Rome, hardly extends beyond the opening. It is worth observation, that the cornice has no corona. I have been apt to consider the suppression of so important a member, as a proof of the decline of Roman art, but this arch is confidently and universally attributed to Augustus, and Fabretti even thinks he has proved that Vitruvius was the architect. Yet the inscriptions, on which I believe the evidence for the period of its construction principally rests, seem to me discordant fragments, not all belonging to the situations which they now occupy. The seven middle vault-stones are continued through the architrave, and the bull’s head on the key-stone interrupts its line, and there are some other peculiarities in the details, yet it would be a very handsome structure if it were not for the silly little pediment.

The Cathedral, which was restored and altered by Leon Battista Alberti, interested me more than any of these. The works of this artist are few, and lie rather out of the beaten track, and they are particularly interesting, not merely as he was practically one of the earliest restorers of Roman architecture, but as he was the first who reduced it into a system by his writing. The old building was of pointed architecture, but I know not of what date, and it is so completely covered by more recent work, that we cannot attempt to form any judgment concerning the time of its erection, from the appearance of what remains in sight. The front, and the one flank, which is exposed to public view, are entirely by L. B. Alberti, and an inscription on the frieze gives us the date of 1450. The front consists of four columns, whose order is a compound of Doric and Ionic, neither of them well understood; and three arches, of which the middle is the largest, and contains the doorway; while the side ones are merely shallow recesses. These columns are set upon a continued basement, which is unfortunately cut through by the doorway, but in other respects the proportions are good, and suited to the style adopted. I should say that the columns were too far apart, if they were introduced as essential parts of the building, but Alberti has used them as Palladio has so frequently done, as ornaments, which may indeed contribute to the firmness of the edifice, but are not absolutely necessary to its support; and the entablature, consistently with this view of their office, breaks round them. The upper part is not completed, but we learn from a medal that there were to be pilasters over the two middle columns below, supporting an ornamented arch, with a portion of a circular pediment on each side. It is probably better that it has not been executed, but here also we find something of the disposition afterwards followed more successfully by Palladio. The flank is much better than the front, from the beautiful simplicity of its seven equal arches, rising on insulated piers; each pier has a panel, which though they are quite shallow, is a great defect. Above each pier there is a circle of porphyry, surrounded by a wreath; and at a moderate distance over these, the entablature, corresponding with that of the front. In each arch there is a stone sarcophagus, and the whole is elevated on a continued basement. The only fault in the composition is the panelling of the piers. Everything else is beautiful.

On the inside, the arches of the nave are pointed, almost the only circumstance retained of their original form. The piers are now ornamented with architraves and Corinthian pilasters; the former of which are cut up by a multitude of small mouldings, but each still retains the character of an architrave. The pilasters are divided in their heights, like towers of several stories, composed of a succession of distinct architectural compositions. We wonder to see the effects of so pure a taste without, combined with such puerilities within. The materials of this church are said to have been drawn from various Roman antiquities, and particularly from the church of St. Apollinaris at Classe, but there is no appearance of any ancient fragments.

There are some trifling remains of a theatre or amphitheatre at Rimini. They consist of one or two arches, principally of brickwork, but with the introduction of a portion of stone, built up in the walls of the town; but there is nothing visible to detain us long.

The same vetturino who had brought me from Faenza to Ravenna, and afterwards to Rimini, conducted me the next day to Pesaro; he was a grumbling fellow, abusing monks and priests, and the government of priests, without measure. To say a man is a priest, according to him, is to say that he is a scoundrel; and yet with striking inconsistency, he pronounced that Bonaparte did nothing wrong, except turning out the friars. Even the inclemency of the seasons, and the scarcity of the late winter, was all attributed to the poor pope or his ministers. These sentiments are extremely common among the lower classes in the papal states; and if in the provincial towns, we consult the opinions of those a little higher in station, the only difference we shall find is, that these do not regret the suppression of monasteries, by whose almsgiving they did not profit. A more serious charge advanced by my vetturino against the present government is, that it has taken the burden off the rich, and oppressed the poor with a double weight of taxes. The French policy seems rather to have been to oppress the upper classes. I know not whether the papal government have only restored the balance, or have in fact overloaded the opposite scale. I wanted to know if he would like to see the Germans in possession of this part of Italy; he did not at all care about it, and I abused him for the want of patriotism to the best of my ability, but he was quite insensible to my reproaches; in fact, how can we expect that those whose hopes and fears are absorbed by the doubt of gaining their daily bread, should have much feeling to spare for national liberty. It is indeed wonderful to observe how generally and strongly such feelings exist, where they are favoured by somewhat of republican institutions; but the Romagnuolo sees himself no part of the state; he is already the subject of a power which he considers as foreign, and perceives very little difference in that respect between Romans and Germans. An Englishman is always seeking in Italy for an Italian spirit of honour and independence, but under the circumstances which have so long oppressed this country, no such feeling can exist in the commonalty, though it may take place in men of liberal minds and enlarged views; the effect of reflection, and not of habit or of passion. A man of the people may be a Genoese, or a Florentine, or a Roman, but not an Italian.

Almost the only thing which excited my admiration at Pesaro, was a beautiful painting by Barocci. I found there a sedia going to Senegaglia, and agreed with the driver to take me to Ancona. The Itinerary mentions a Roman arch at Fano, but I inquired for it in vain; and you perhaps, equally in vain, have been expecting that I should say something about the Rubicon, but it is uncertain which of the little rivers which cross the road, has a right to the name, and such things are nothing when sought out in the midst of doubts.

I slept at Senegaglia: here is one of the three great fairs of the Mediterranean; another is at Beaucaire: I do not recollect the place of the third. It did not seem to me equal in display to that of Beaucaire, and as it is entirely in the town, has not the picturesque effect of the tents and trees of the other. We reached Ancona about two o’clock, a city whose houses rise in one heap, one high above the other, without a tree either in it or about it. In the midst of this mass, a little portico of a church makes a singularly agreeable contrast. I delivered my letters, but they were between people only connected by business, and I have never found such letters of any use in Italy, unless indeed they contained a credit, and I wanted money: perhaps if I got into a scrape, I might find them advantageous.

There is a celebrated arch at Ancona, in honour of Trajan, erected on the ancient mole, which being higher and narrower than the present pier, they form two levels, nearly of equal breadth, of which the arch crosses only the higher, and shows an elevated basement on one side. It is of white marble, and though perhaps rather too high, yet the proportions are pleasing, and the appearance noble and magnificent, an effect to which its situation greatly contributes. The mouldings are rather confused; none of them are enriched with sculpture, except those upon the key-stone. There are various holes remaining, which render it probable that the figures and ornaments were of metal, but except these holes no sign of them remains.

The Cathedral, dedicated to San Cyriaco, is a curious building, but not by any means beautiful. It was built by Margaritone, an architect of the thirteenth century. The roofs are so combined, that the whole rises in a sort of tent-like form not ungracefully, and it is crowned with a dome upon a lofty drum, the former being covered with varnished tiles of different colours. The porch is formed by an arch supported on columns, which again rest on figures of animals, and these are completely worked round, so as to exhibit the false bearing of the columns, in which probably the artist prided himself. As this porch has every appearance of being of the date of the church, we might at least fix a period in which these animal-propt columns were in fashion, but unfortunately we only know of Margaritone, that he died at the age of seventy-seven, and probably before the year 1300. I may add, that this church was not a production of his old age. The doorway is ornamented with a series of columns supporting arches; diminishing in width as they approach the opening: a very common arrangement in the later Norman and early Gothic. In this instance the arches are pointed. There is a small circular window over the porch, and a range of simple arches, forming part of the enrichment under the raking cornice. The inside forms a Greek cross, except that an addition to the further tribune has taken place in modern times, but as it has little to recommend it, I shall spare you the description. All the arches are circular, except those of the doorway already mentioned, and this exception does not include the porch, the arch of which is a semicircle.

There is a curious little church or chapel at Ancona, dedicated to Santa Maria della Piazza Collegiata. The front is covered with small semicircular arches, each formed of one enriched moulding, and resting on little columns, imitated from the Corinthian. All the ornaments exhibit a good deal of Roman taste, but there is certainly nothing Roman in the disposition. The gable, instead of being carried up to a point, is cut off by a horizontal line. I do not know the date, but I should attribute it to the eleventh century, or early in the twelfth.

There is little good in the civil or domestic architecture of Ancona, nor is there much to excite the attention of the antiquary, though some pointed arches and ornaments of the middle ages, may be observed among the later productions.

I stayed through Monday in this city, because I could not persuade the vetturino to depart: these gentlemen put me not a little in mind of Fielding’s description of a stage-coachman in England, and I think it would be very amusing to read on an Italian tour, the description of an English journey a century ago; the points of resemblance would be very numerous. On Tuesday morning we started, but not till seven o’clock: the country is hilly, and the road continually ascending and descending: the land all cultivated, and small pollard trees scattered about, are used to support the vines. The most indulgent traveller could hardly call it either romantic, picturesque, beautiful, rich, or pleasing; yet the Itinerary speaks favourably of it.

Loreto is a miserable little town, with an unfinished Piazza, and a very large church. This Piazza is of an oblong form, and was intended to have a double range of arches on three sides, and the church on the fourth; it would thus have formed an avenue with two stories of arcades, leading to the church, a disposition I have already had occasion to praise: and here, enough is done, to shew that it would have been very beautiful, though the church itself is not praiseworthy. It is said on the spot to have been designed by Michael Angelo, and executed by Bramante, but this cannot be, since M. Angelo did not attend to architecture till some years after Bramante’s death. The nave of the church internally may be called a sort of Gothic. It has square piers, with a little shaft at each angle; it has neither richness, lightness, nor the appearance of solidity. Beyond the nave there is an octagonal space covered with a dome, and there are three tribunes, forming the arms of the cross, but even this part is not handsome. The Holy House, which is said to have been the habitation of the Virgin, and miraculously transported by angels to Loreto, is erected in the octagonal space. It appears to be built of Apennine limestone, but is so polished by kisses, and blackened by the smoke of the lamps, that it is difficult to tell what it is. Instead of a roof, it is covered with a vault, which is confessedly modern, the old timber-work having decayed. Externally, it is encrusted with a coat of white marble, with Corinthian columns, and rich ornaments; the architecture of Bramante, and good of its kind, but it is of a kind which I do not greatly admire. Italian monumental architecture, with some favourable exceptions, is composed of little parts, and highly ornamented. It is more broken than that of their larger edifices, often handsome, and with great beauty and delicacy in the details, but without anything magnificent or impressive; hardly ever with any character as monuments, except that as the eye becomes accustomed to see them in this form, we obtain an habitual association; and sentiments of death and eternity may be awakened in the mind; but without such habits the style would rather seem accordant with scenes of temporary gaiety. Yet in all countries, and in all ages, it has been customary to decorate tombs highly, and even splendidly. The treasury is a large and very handsome room, simple in its form, and not overloaded with ornaments. The ceiling, as is usual in Italy, has a large cove, leaving only a small flat space in the middle; and in these large and lofty rooms, the arrangement produces a magnificent effect. It was pillaged of course in the late revolutions, but they have again collected a few good paintings, and some elegant gold cups, and other things of that sort, enriched with pearls and precious stones; the gifts of the kings and queens of modern times.

Attached to the religious institutions of Italy, there is frequently an apothecary’s shop; and I believe generally speaking, these are the places where the best drugs are sold. The Spezieria at Loreto, is not however, so famous for its drugs, as for its jars of earthenware. They are said to have been executed from designs by Raphael, but we do not find in them any trace of his excellences, or of his peculiarities of manner.

After seeing the lions of Loreto, and walking a little about the town, I 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 (3¼d.). 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.