Samuel F. B. Morse, His Letters and Journals / In Two Volumes, Volume I.

by Samuel Finley Breese Morse

FEBRUARY 10, 1831—SEPTEMBER 12, 1831.

Historic events witnessed by Morse.—Rumors of revolution.—Danger to foreigners.—Coronation of the new Pope.—Pleasant experience.—Cause of the revolution a mystery.—Bloody plot foiled.—Plans to leave for Florence.—Sends casts, etc., to National Academy of Design.—Leaves Rome.—Dangers of the journey.—Florence.—Description of meeting with Prince Radziwill in Coliseum at Rome.—Copies portraits of Rubens and Titian in Florence.—Leaves Florence for Venice.—Disagreeable voyage on the Po.—Venice, beautiful but smelly.—Copies Tintoret's "Miracle of the Slave."—Thunderstorms.—Reflections on the Fourth of July.—Leaves Venice.—Recoaro.—Milan.—Reflections on Catholicism and art.—Como and Maggiore.—The Rigi.—Schaffhausen and Heidelberg.—Evades the quarantine on French border.—Thrilling experience.—Paris.

It was Morse's good fortune to have been a spectator, at various times and in different places, of events of more or less historical moment. We have seen that he was in England during the War of 1812; that he witnessed the execution of the assassin of a Prime Minister; that he was a keen and interested observer of the festivities in honor of a Czar of Russia, a King of France, and a famous general (Blücher); and although not mentioned in his correspondence, he was fond of telling how he had seen the ship sailing away to distant St. Helena bearing the conquered Napoleon Bonaparte into captivity. Now, while he was diligently pursuing his art in Rome, he was privileged to witness the funeral obsequies of one Pope and the ceremonies attendant upon the installation of his successor. In future years the same good fortune followed him.

His presence on these occasions was not always unattended by danger to himself. His discretion during the years of war between England and America saved him from possible annoyance or worse, and now again in Rome he was called upon to exercise the same virtue, for the Church had entered upon troublous times, and soon the lives of foreigners were in danger, and many of them left the city.

On Thursday, February 10, there is this entry in the journal: "The revolutions in the Papal States to the north at Bologna and Ancona, and in the Duchy of Modena, have been made known at Rome. Great consternation prevails." We learn further that, on February 12, "Rumors of conspiracy are numerous. The time, the places of rendezvous, and even the numbers are openly talked of. The streets are filled with the people who gaze at each other inquisitively, and apprehension seems marked on every face. The shops are shutting, troops are stationed in the piazzas, and everything wears a gloomy aspect. At half-past seven a discharge of musketry is heard. Among the reports of the day is one that the Trasteverini have plotted to massacre the forestieri in case of a revolt."

While the festivities of the Carnival were, on account of these disturbances, ordered by the Pope to be discontinued, the religious ceremonies were still observed, and, going to St. Peter's one day—"to witness the ceremonies of consecration as a bishop and coronation as a king of the Pope"—Morse had this pleasant experience:—

"The immense area seemed already filled; a double line of soldiers enclosed a wide space, from the great door through the middle of the church, on each side of the altar, and around the richly enclosed space where were erected the two papal thrones and the seats for the cardinals. Into this soldier-invested space none but the privileged were permitted to enter; ambassadors, princes, dukes, and nobles of every degree were seen, in all their splendor of costume, promenading.

"I was with the crowd without, making up my mind to see nothing of the ceremonies, but, being in full dress, and remembering that, on former occasions, I had been admitted as a stranger within the space, I determined to make the effort again. I therefore edged myself through the mass of people until I reached the line of soldiers, and, catching the eye of the commanding officer as he passed by, I beckoned to him, and, as he came to me, I said, 'Sono un Americano, un forestiero, signore,' which I had no sooner said than, taking me by the hand, he drew me in, and, politely bowing, gave me leave to go where I pleased."

From this point of vantage he had an excellent view of all the ceremonies, which were much like the others he had witnessed and do not need to be described.

He wanted very much to go to Florence at this time to fulfil some of the commissions he had received for copies of famous paintings in that city, but his departure was delayed, for, as he notes on February 13:—

"There are many alarming rumors, one in particular that the Trasteverini and Galleotti, or galley slaves, have been secretly armed by the Government, and that the former are particularly incensed against the forestieri as the supposed instigators of the revolution…. These facts have thrown us all into alarm, for we know not what excesses such men may be guilty of when excited by religious enthusiasm to revenge themselves on those they call heretics. We are compelled, too, to remain in Rome from the state of the country, it being not safe to travel on account of brigands who now infest the roads.

"February 15. I have never been in a place where it was so difficult to ascertain the truth as in this city. I have enquired the reason of this movement hostile to the Government, but cannot ascertain precisely its object. Some say it is to deprive the Pope of his temporal power,—and some Catholics seem to think that their religion would flourish the better for it; others that it is a plan, long digested, for bringing all Italy under one government, having it divided into so many federative states, like the United States….

"The Trasteverini seem to be a peculiar class, proud, as believing themselves to be the only true descendants from the ancient Romans, and, therefore, hating the other Romans. Poor from that very pride; ignorant and attached to their faith, they are the class of all others to be dreaded in a season of anarchy. It is easy by flattery, by a little distribution of money, and by a cry of danger to their religion, to rouse them to any degree of enthusiasm, and no one can set bounds to the excesses of such a set of fiends when let loose upon society.

"The Government at present have them in their interest, and, while that is the case, no danger is to be dreaded. It is in that state of anarchy which, for a longer or shorter period, intervenes in the changes of government, between the established rule of the one and of the other, that such a class of men is to be feared.

"February 17. The plan said to have been determined on by the conspirators was this: The last night of the Carnival was fixed for the execution of the plan. This was Tuesday night when it is customary to have the moccoletti, or small wax-candles, lighted by the crowd. The conspirators were each to be placed, as it were by accident, by the side of a soldier (which in so great a crowd could be done without suspicion), and, when the cannon fired which gave the signal for closing the course, it was also to serve as a signal for each one to turn upon the soldier and, by killing him, to seize his arms. This would, indeed, have been a bloody scene, and for humanity's sake it is well that it was discovered and prevented.

"February 20. I learn that the Pope is desirous of yielding to the spirit of the times, and is disposed to grant a constitution to the people, but that the cardinals oppose it. He is said also to be prepared to fly from Rome, and even has declared his intention of resigning the dignity of Pope and retiring again to the solitude of the convent.

"February 24. It seems to be no longer doubtful that a revolutionary army is approaching Rome from the revolted provinces, and that they advance rapidly…. The city is tranquil enough; no troops are seen, except at night a sentinel at some corner cries as you pass, 'Chi viva?' and you are obliged to cry, 'Il Papa'; which one may surely do with a good conscience, for he is entitled to great respect for his personal character.

"February 25. Went to-day to get my passport viséed for Florence, whither I intended to go on Tuesday next, but am advised by the consul and others not to risk the journey at present, as it is unsafe."

I break the continuity of the narrative for a moment to note that while Morse was making copies of famous paintings in Rome, and studying intelligently the works of the old masters, he was not forgetful of the young academy at home, which he had helped to found and of which he was still president. On March 1 he writes jubilantly to the secretary, J.L. Morton, that he has succeeded in obtaining by gift a number of casts of ancient and modern sculpture which he will send home by the first opportunity. Among the generous donors he mentions Thorwaldsen, Daniel Coit, Esq., Richard Wyatt, Esq., Signor Trentanove, and George Washington Lee, Esq. He adds at the end of the letter:—

"I leave Rome immediately and know not when I shall be allowed to rest, the revolution here having turned everything into confusion, rendering the movements of travellers uncertain and unsafe, and embarrassing my studies and those of other artists exceedingly. I shall try to go to Florence, but must pass through the two hostile armies and through a country which, in a season of confusion like the present, is sure to be infested with brigands. If I reach Florence in safety and am allowed to remain, which is somewhat doubtful, you shall hear of me again, either directly or through my brothers."

Mr. Morton, answering this letter on May 22, informs Morse of his reëlection as president of the National Academy of Design, and adds: "By the by, talking of coming back, do try and make your arrangements as soon as possible. We want you very much, if it is only to set us all right again. We begin to feel the want of our Head Man."

Reverting to the journal again, we find this note: "March 3. For some days past I have been engaged in packing up and taking leave, and yesterday was introduced by the Count le Grice to Cardinal Weld, who received me very politely, presented me with a book, and sent me two letters of introduction to London."

On March 4, Morse, with four companions, started from Rome on the seemingly perilous journey to Florence. They passed through the lines of both armies, but, contrary to their expectations, they were most courteously treated by the officers on both sides. It is true that they learned afterwards that they came near being arrested at Civita Castellana, where the Papal army was assembled in force, for—"When we took leave of the Marquis at Terni he told us that it was well we left Civita Castellana as we did, for an order for our arrest was making out, and in a few minutes more we should not have been allowed to leave the place. Indeed, when I think of the case, it was a surprising thing that we were allowed to go into all parts of the place, to see their position, to count their men and know their strength, and then to immediately pass over to their enemy and to give him, if we chose, all the information that any spy could have given."

It is not within the province of this work to deal at length with the political movements of the times. As we have seen, Morse was fortunate in avoiding danger, and we learn from history that this revolt, which threatened at one time to become very serious, was eventually suppressed by the Papal arms aided by the Austrians.

Having passed safely through the zone of danger, they travelled on, and, on March 9:—

"At half-past three the beautiful city was seen to our left reposing in sunshine in the wide vale of the Arno. The Duomo and the Campanile were the most conspicuous objects. At half-past four we entered Florence and obtained rooms at the Leone Bianco in the Via Vigna Nuova.

"March 10. We found to-day, to our great discomfiture, that we are allowed by the police to stay but three days in the city. No entreaties through our consul, nor offers of guaranty on his part, availed to soften towards us the rigor of the decree, which they say applies to all foreigners. I have written to our consul at Leghorn to petition the Government for our stay, as Mr. Ombrosi, the United States Consul here, is not accredited by the Government."

He must have succeeded in obtaining permission to remain, although the fact is not noted in the journal, for the next entry is on April 11, and finds him still in Florence. It begins: "Various engagements preventing my entering regularly in my journal every day's events as they occurred, I have been compelled to make a gap, which I fill up from recollection."

Before following him further, however, I shall quote from a letter written to his brothers on April 15, but referring to events which happened some time before:—

"We have recently heard of the disasters of the Poles. What noble people; how deserving of their freedom. I must tell you of an interesting circumstance that occurred to me in relation to Poland. It was in the latter part of June of last year, just as I was completing my arrangements for my journey to Naples, that I was tempted by one of those splendid moonlight evenings, so common in Italy, to visit once more the ruins of the Coliseum. I had frequently been to the Coliseum in company, but now I had the curiosity to go alone—I wished to enjoy, if possible, its solitude and its solemn grandeur unannoyed by the presence of any one.

"It was eleven o'clock when I left my lodgings and no one was walking at that hour in the solitary streets of Rome. From the Corso to the Forum all was as still as in a deserted city. The ruins of the Forum, the temples and pillars, the Arch of Titus and the gigantic arcade of the Temple of Peace, seemed to sleep in the gravelike stillness of the air. The only sound that reached my ears was that of my own footsteps. I slowly proceeded, stopping occasionally, and listening and enjoying the profound repose and the solemn, pure light, so suited to the ruined magnificence around me. As I approached the Coliseum the shriek of an owl and the answering echo broke the stillness for a moment, and all was still again.

"I reached the entrance, before which paced a lonely sentinel, his arms flashing in the moonbeams. He abruptly stopped me and told me I could not enter. I asked him why. He replied that his orders were to let no one pass. I told him I knew better, that he had no such orders, that he was placed there to protect visitors, and not to prevent their entrance, and that I should pass. Finding me resolute (for I knew by experience his motive was merely to extort money), he softened in his tone, and wished me to wait until he could speak to the sergeant of the guard. To this I assented, and, while he was gone, a party of gentlemen approached also to the entrance. One of them, having heard the discourse between the sentinel and myself, addressed me. Perceiving that he was a foreigner, I asked him if he spoke English. He replied with a slight accent, 'Yes, a little. You are an Englishman, sir?' 'No,' I replied, 'I am an American from the United States.' 'Indeed,' said he, 'that is much better'; and, extending his hand, he shook me cordially by the hand, adding, 'I have a great respect for your country and I know many of your countrymen.' He then mentioned Dr. Jarvis and Mr. Cooper, the novelist, the latter of whom he said was held in the greatest estimation in Europe, and nowhere more so than in his country, Poland, where his works were more sought after than those of Scott, and his mind was esteemed of an equal if not of a superior cast.

"This casual introduction of literary topics furnished us with ample matter for conversation while we were not engaged in contemplating the sublime ruins over which, when the sentinel returned, we climbed. I asked him respecting the literature of Poland, and particularly if there were now any living poets of eminence. He observed: 'Yes, sir, I am happily travelling in company with the most celebrated of our poets, Meinenvitch'; and who, as I understood him, was one of the party walking in another part of the ruins.

"Engaged in conversation we left the Coliseum together and slowly proceeded into the city. I told him of the deep interest with which Poland was regarded in the United States, and that her heroes were spoken of with the same veneration as our own. As some evidence of this estimation I informed him of the monument erected by the cadets of West Point to the memory of Kosciusko. With this intelligence he was evidently much affected; he took my hand and exclaimed with great enthusiasm and emphatically: 'We, too, sir, shall be free; the time is coming; we too shall be free; my unhappy country will be free.' (This was before the revolution in France.)

"As I came to the street where we were to part he took out his notebook, and, going under the lamp of a Madonna, near the Piazza Colonna, he wished me to write my name for him among the other names of Americans which he had treasured in his book. I complied with his request. In bidding me adieu he said: 'It will be one of my happiest recollections of Rome that the last night which I passed in this city was passed in the Coliseum, and with an American, a citizen of a free country. If you should ever visit Warsaw, pray enquire for Prince——; I shall be exceedingly glad to see you.'

"Thus I parted with this interesting Pole. That I should have forgotten a Polish name, pronounced but once, you will not think extraordinary. The sequel remains to be told. When the Polish revolution broke out, what was my surprise to find the poet Meinenvitch and a prince, whose name seemed like that which he pronounced to me, and to which was added—'just returned from Italy'—among the first members of the provisional government."

Morse assured himself afterwards, and so noted it in his journal, that this chance acquaintance was Prince Michael Jerome Radziwill, who had served as lieutenant in the war of independence under Kosciusko; fought under Napoleon in Russia (by whom he was made a brigadier-general); and, shortly after the meeting in the Coliseum, was made general-in-chief of the Polish army. After the defeat of this army he was banished to central Russia until 1836, when he retired to Dresden.

Reverting again to the notebooks, we find that Florence, with her wealth of beauty in architecture, sculpture, and painting, appealed strongly to the artist, and the notes are chiefly descriptions of what he sees, and which it will not be necessary to transcribe. He had, during all the time he was in Italy, been completing, one after another, the copies for which he had received commissions, and had been sending them home. He thus describes to his friend, Mr. Van Schaick, the paintings made for him:—

"Florence, May 12, 1831. I have at length completed the two pictures which you were so kind as to commission me to execute for you, and they are packed in a case, ready to send to you from Leghorn by the first opportunity, through Messrs. Bell, de Yongh & Co. of that city.

"As your request was that these pictures should be heads, I have chosen two of the most celebrated in the gallery of portraits in the Florence Gallery. These are the heads of Rubens and Titian from the portraits by themselves. As the portraits of the two great masters of color they will alone be interesting, but they are more so from giving a fair specimen of their two opposite styles of color. That of Rubens, from its gaiety, will doubtless be more popular, but that of Titian, from its sobriety and dignity, pleases me better. In hanging the pictures they should be placed apart. The styles are so opposed that, were they placed near to each other, they would mutually affect each other unfavorably. Rubens may be placed in more obscurity, but Titian demands to be more in the light.

"I have no time to add, as I am preparing to leave Florence on Monday for
Bologna and Venice."

Travelling in Italy in those days was fraught with many annoyances, for, in addition to the slow progress made in the vetture, there seems to have been (judging from the journal) a dogana, or custom-house, every few miles, where the luggage and clothing of travellers were examined, sometimes hastily and courteously, sometimes with more rigor. And yet this leisurely rate of progress, the travellers walking up most of the hills, must have had a charm unknown to the present-day tourist, who is whisked unseeing through the most characteristic parts of a foreign country. The beautiful scenery of the Apennines was in this way enjoyed to the full by the artist, but I shall not linger over the journey nor shall I include any notes concerning Bologna. He found the city most interesting—"A piece of porphyry set in verd antique"—and those to whom he had letters of introduction more hospitable than in any other city in Italy.

From Bologna the route lay through Ferrara and then to Pontelagoscuro on the river Po, where he was to take the courier boat for Venice, down the Po and through a canal. To add to the discomforts of this part of the trip it rained steadily for several days, and, on May 22, Morse paints this dreary picture:—

"When we waked this morning we found it still raining and, apparently, so to continue all day. The rainy day at a country inn, so exquisitely described by Irving in all its disagreeable features, is now before us. A solitary inn with nothing indoors to attract; cold and damp and dark. The prospect from the windows is a low muddy foreground, the north bank of the muddy Po; a pile of brushwood, a heap of offal, a melancholy group of cattle, who show no other signs of life than the occasional sly attack by one of them upon a poor, dripping, half-starved dog, who, with tail between his legs, now and then ventures near them to search for his miserable meal. Beyond, on the river, a few barks silently lying upon the stream, and on the opposite bank some buildings with a church and a campanile dimly seen through the mist. After coffee we were obliged to go to the dogana to see to the searching of all our trunks and luggage. The principals were present and we were not severely searched. A Frenchman, however, who had come on a little before us, was stripped to his skin, some papers were found upon him, and I understand he has made his escape and they are now searching for him….

"At 2.30, after having dined, we waded through the mud in a pelting rain to the dogana for our luggage, and, after getting completely wet, we embarked on board the courier boat, with a cabin seven feet long, six feet wide, and six high, into which six of us, having a gentleman from Trieste and his mother added to our number, were crowded, with no beds…. Rain, rain, rain!!! in torrents, cold and dreary through a perfectly flat country…. At ten o 'clock we arrived at a place called Cavanella, where is a locanda upon the canal which should have been open to receive us, but they were all asleep and no calling would rouse them. So we were obliged to go supperless to bed, and such abed! There being no room to spread mattresses for six in the cabin, three dirty mattresses, without sheets or blankets, were laid on the floor of the forward cabin (if it might so be called). This cabin was a hole down into which two or three steps led. We could not stand upright,—indeed, kneeling, our heads touched the top,—and when stretched at full length the tallest of us could touch with his head and feet from side to side. But, it being dreary and damp without and we being sleepy, we considered not the place, nor its inconveniences, nor its little pests which annoyed us all night, nor its vicinity to a magazine of cheese, with which the boat was laden and the odors from which assailed us. We lay down in our clothes and slept; the rain pattering above our heads only causing us to sleep the sounder."

Continuing their leisurely journey in this primitive manner, the rain finally ceasing, but the sky remaining overcast and the weather cold and wintry, they reached Chioggia, and "At 11.30, the towers and spires of Venice were seen at a distance before us rising from the sea." Venice, of course, was a delight to Morse's eye, but his nose was affected quite differently, for he says: "Those that have resided in Venice a long time say it is not an unhealthy place. I cannot believe it, for the odors from the canals cannot but produce illness of some kind. That which is constantly offensive to any of our organs of sense must affect them injuriously."

Several severe thunderstorms broke over the city while he was there, and one was said to be the worst which had been known within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. After describing it he adds: "I was at the Academy. The rain penetrated through the ceiling at the corner of the picture I was copying—'The Miracle of the Slave,' by Tintoret—and threatened injury to it, but happily it escaped."

On June 19, he thus moralizes: "The Piazza of St. Mark is the great place of resort, and on every evening, but especially on Sundays or festas, the arcades and cafés are crowded with elegantly dressed females and their gallants. Chairs are placed in great numbers under the awnings before the cafés. A people that have no homes, who are deprived from policy of that domestic and social intercourse which we enjoy, must have recourse to this empty, heartless enjoyment; an indolent enjoyment, when all their intercourse, too, is in public, surrounded by police agents and soldiers to prevent excess. Hallam, in his 'Middle Ages,' has this just reflection on the condition of this same city when under the Council of Ten: 'But how much more honorable are the wildest excesses of faction than the stillness and moral degradation of servitude.' Quiet is, indeed, obtained here, but at what immense expense! Expense of wealth, although excessive, is nothing compared with the expense of morality and of all intellectual exercise."

On June 23, he witnessed another thunderstorm from the Piazza of St.
Mark:—

"The lightning, flashing in the dark clouds that were gathering from the Tyrolese Alps, portended another storm which soon burst over us and hastened the conclusion of the music. The lightning was incessant. I stood at the corner of the piazza and watched the splendid effects of lights and darks, in a moment coming and in a moment gone, on the campanile and church of St. Mark's. It was most sublime. The gilt statue of the angel on the top of the campanile never looked so sublime, seeming to be enveloped in the glory of the vivid light, and, as the electric fluid flashed behind it from cloud to cloud incessantly, it seemed to go and come at the bidding of the angel."

This sounds almost like a prophetic vision, written by the pencil of the man who, in a few years from then, was to make the lightning go and come at his bidding.

"July 4. This anniversary of the day of our national birth found but two Americans in Venice. We met in the evening over a cup of coffee and thought and talked of the happiest of countries. We had no patriotic toasts, but the sentiments of our hearts were—'Peace be within thy walls and prosperity within thy palaces.' Never on any anniversary of our Independence have I felt so strongly the great reason I have for gratitude in having been born in such a country. When I think of the innumerable blessings we enjoy over every other country in the world, I am constrained to praise God who hath made us to differ, for 'He hath not dealt so with any nation, and as for his judgments, we have not known them.' While pestilence and famine and war surround me here in these devoted countries, I fix my thoughts on one bright spot on earth; truly (if our too ungrateful countrymen would but see it), truly a terrestrial paradise."

This attack of nostalgia was probably largely due to atmospheric conditions, for at least one thunderstorm seems to have been a matter of daily occurrence. This, added to the noisome odors arising from the canals, affected his health, for he complains of feeling more unwell than at any time since he left home. It must, therefore, have been with no feelings of great regret that he packed his belongings and prepared to leave Venice with a companion, Mr. Ferguson, of Natchez, on the 18th of July. His objective point was Paris, but he planned to linger by the way and take a leisurely course through the Italian lake region, Switzerland, and Germany. The notebooks give a detailed but rather dry account of the daily happenings. It was, presumably, Morse's intention to elaborate these, at some future day, into a more entertaining record of his wanderings; but this was never done. I shall, therefore, pass on rapidly, touching but lightly on the incidents of the journey, which were, in the main, without special interest. The route lay through Padua, Vicenza, Verona, and Brescia to Milan. From Vicenza a side trip was made to the watering-place of Recoaro, where a few days were most delightfully spent in the company of the English consul at Venice, Mr. Money, and his family.

"Recoaro, like all watering-places, is beginning to be the resort of the fashionable world. The Grand Duchess of Tuscany is now here, and on Saturday the Vice-Queen of Italy is expected from Milan to visit her aunt, the Grand Duchess…. Towards evening parties of ladies and gentlemen are seen promenading or riding on donkeys along the brows of the mountains and among the trees, and many priests are seen disfiguring the landscape with their tasteless, uncouth dresses; most of them coming, I was informed on the best authority, for the purpose of gambling and dissipating that time of which, from the trifling nature of their duties and the almost countless increase of their numbers, they have so much to spare. Cards have the most fascination for them."

Another incident of the stay at Recoaro is worth recording. Referring to the family of Mr. Money, he says:—

"In the afternoon took an excursion on donkeys with the whole family among the wild and romantic scenery. In returning, while riding by the side of Mr. Money and in conversation with him, my donkey stumbled upon his knees and threw me over his head, without injury to me, but Mrs. Money, who was just before me, seeing the accident, was near fainting and, during the rest of the day, was invisible. I was somewhat surprised at the effect produced on her until I learned that the news of the loss of her son in India by a fall from his horse, which had recently reached her, had rendered her nerves peculiarly sensitive."

Two days later, however, he joined them in another excursion.

"On returning we stopped to take tea at Mrs. Ireland's lodgings, an English lady who is here with her two daughters, accomplished and highly agreeable people. I was told by them that after I left Rome a most diabolical attempt was made to poison the English artists who had made a party to Grotto Ferrata. They were mistaken by the persons who attempted the deed for Germans. They all became exceedingly ill immediately after dinner, and, as the wine was the only thing they had taken there, having brought their food with them, it was suspected and a strong solution of copper was proved to be in it. I was told that Messrs. Gibson and Desoulavy suffered a great deal, the latter being confined to his bed for three weeks. Had I been in Rome it is more than probable I should have been of their party, for I had never visited Grotto Ferrata, and the company of those with whom I had associated would have induced me to join them without a doubt."

Morse enjoyed his stay at Recoaro so much that he was persuaded by his hospitable friends to prolong his visit for a few days longer than he had planned, but, on July 27, he and his friend Mr. Ferguson bade adieu and proceeded on their journey. Verona and Brescia were visited and on July 29 they came to Milan. The cathedral he finds "a most gorgeous building, far exceeding my conception of it"; and of the beautiful street of the Corso Porta Orientale he says: "It is wider than Broadway and as superior as white marble palaces are to red brick houses. There is an opinion prevalent among some of our good citizens that Broadway is not only the longest and widest, but the most superbly built, street in the world. The sooner they are undeceived the better. Broadway is a beautiful street, a very beautiful street, but it is absurd to think that our brick houses of twenty-five feet front, with plain doors and windows, built by contract in two or three months, and holding together long enough to be let, can rival the spacious stone palaces of hundreds of feet in length, with lofty gates and balconied windows, and their foundations deeply laid and slowly constructed to last for ages." This was, of course, when Broadway even below Fourteenth Street, was a residence street.

Attending service in the cathedral on Sunday, and being, as usual, wearied by the monotony and apparent insincerity of it all, he again gives vent to his feelings:—

"How admirably contrived is every part of the structure of this system to take captive the imagination. It is a religion of the imagination; all the arts of the imagination are pressed into its service; architecture, painting, sculpture, music, have lent all their charm to enchant the senses and impose on the understanding by substituting for the solemn truths of God's Word, which are addressed to the understanding, the fictions of poetry and the delusions of feeling. The theatre is a daughter of this prolific mother of abominations, and a child worthy of its dam. The lessons of morality are pretended to be taught by both, and much in the same way, by scenic effect and pantomime, and the fruits are much the same.

"I am sometimes even constrained to doubt the lawfulness of my own art when I perceive its prostitution, were I not fully persuaded that the art itself, when used for its legitimate purposes, is one of the greatest correcters of grossness and promoters of refinement. I have been led, since I have been in Italy, to think much of the propriety of introducing pictures into churches in aid of devotion. I have certainly every inducement to decide in favor of the practice did I consult alone the seeming interest of art. That pictures may and do have the effect upon some rightly to raise the affections, I have no doubt, and, abstractly considered, the practice would not merely be harmless but useful; but, knowing that man is led astray by his imagination more than by any of his other faculties, I consider it so dangerous to his best interests that I had rather sacrifice the interests of the arts, if there is any collision, than run the risk of endangering those compared with which all others are not for a moment to be considered. But more of this another time."

I have introduced here and at other times Morse's strictures on the Roman Catholic religion, and on other subjects, without comment on my part, even when these strictures seem to verge on illiberality. My desire is to present a true portrait of the man, with the shadows as well as the lights duly emphasized, fully realizing that what may appear faults to some, to others will shine out as virtues, and vice versa.

From Milan, Morse and his companion planned to cross the mountains to Geneva, but, having a day or two to spare, they visited the Lake of Como, which, as was to be expected, satisfied the eye of the artist: "It is shut in by mountains on either side, reminding me of the scenery of Lake George, to which its shores are very similar. In the transparency of the water, however, Lake George is its superior, and in islands also, but in all things else the Lake of Como must claim the precedence. The palaces and villas and villages which skirt its shores, the mountains, vine-clad and cultivated to their summits, all give a charm for which we look in vain as yet in our country. The luxuries of art have combined with those of nature in a wonderful degree in this enchanting spot."

On August 4, they left Milan in the diligence for Lago Maggiore, and we learn that: "Our coach is accompanied by gendarmes. We enquired the reason of the conductor, who was in the coach with us. He told us that the road is an unsafe one; that every day there are instances of robbery perpetrated upon those who travel alone."

[Illustration: HENRY CLAY
Painted by Morse. Now in the Metropolitan Museum, New York]

It would be pleasant to follow the travellers through beautiful Maggiore and up the rugged passes from Italy to Switzerland and thence to Germany and Paris, and to see through the unspoiled eyes of an enthusiast the beauties of that playground of the nations, but it would be but the repetition of an oft-told tale, and I must hasten on, making but a few extracts from the diary. No thrilling adventures were met with, except towards the end, but they enjoyed to the full the grand scenery, the picturesque costumes of the peasants and the curious customs of the different countries through which they passed. The weather was sometimes fine, but more often overcast or rainy, and we find this note on August 15: "How much do a traveller's impressions depend upon the weather, and even on the time of day in which he sees objects. He sees most of the country through which he travels but once, and it is the face which any point assumes at that one moment which is brought to his recollection. If it is under a gloomy atmosphere, it is not possible that he should remember it under other form or aspect."

On Sunday, August 28, he watched the sunrise from the summit of the Rigi under ideal conditions, and, after describing the scene and saying that the rest of the company had gone back to bed, he adds:—

"I had found too little comfort in the wretched thing that had been provided for me in the shape of a bed to desire to return thither, and I also felt too strongly the emotions which the scene I had just witnessed had excited, to wish for their dissipation in troubled dreams.

"If there is a feeling allied to devotion, it is that which such a scene of sublimity as this we have just witnessed inspires, and yet that feeling is not devotion. I am aware that it is but the emotion of taste. It may exist without a particle of true religious feeling, or it may coexist and add strength to it. There are thousands, probably, who have here had their emotion of taste excited without one thought of that Being by whom these wonders were created, one thought of their relation to Him, of their duty to Him, or of admiration at that unmerited goodness which allows them to be witnesses of his majesty and power as exhibited in these wonders of nature. Shut out as I am by circumstances from the privileges of this day in public worship, I have yet on the top of this mountain a place of private worship such as I have not had for some time past. I am alone on the mountain with such a scene spread before me that I must adore, and weak, indeed, must be that faith which, on this day, in such a scene, does not lift the heart from nature up to nature's God."

On August 30, on the road to Zurich, he makes this rather interesting observation: "We noticed in a great many instances that wires were attached to the electric rods and conducted to posts near the houses, when a chime of bells was so arranged as to ring in a highly charged state of the atmosphere (Franklin's experiment)."

Journeying on past Schaffhausen, where the beautiful falls of the Rhine filled him with admiration, he and his companion came to Heidelberg and explored the ruins of the stupendous castle. Here he parted with his travelling companion, Mr. Ferguson, who went on to Frankfort, which city Morse avoided because the French Government had established a strict quarantine against it on account of some epidemic, the nature of which is not disclosed in the notes. He was eager to get to Paris now and wished to avoid all delays.

"September 7. I engaged my passage in the diligence for Mannheim, and, for the first time since I have been in Europe, set out alone…. I learn from the gentleman in the coach that the cordon sanitaire in France is to be enforced with great rigor from the 11th of September; I hope, therefore, to get into France before that date.

"September 10, Saarbruck. We last night took our places for Metz, not knowing, however, or even thinking it probable that we should be able to get there. It was hinted by some that a small douceur would enable us to pass the cordon, but how to be applied I knew not.

"Among our passengers who joined me yesterday was a young German officer who was the only one who could speak French. With him I contrived to converse during the day. We had beds in the same room and, as we were about retiring, he told me, as I understood him, that by giving the keys of my luggage to the coachman in the morning, the business of passing at the douane on the frontier would be facilitated. I assented and told him, as he understood the language better than I, I left it to him to make any arrangements and I would share the expense with him.

"We were called sometime before day and I left my bed very reluctantly. The morning was cloudy and dark and so far favorable to the enterprise we were about to undertake, and of the nature and plan of which I had not the slightest suspicion. We were soon settled in the diligence and left Saarbruck for the frontier. I composed myself to sleep and had just got into a doze when suddenly the coach stopped, and, the door opening, a man touching me said in a low voice—'Descendez, monsieur, descendez.' I asked the reason but got no answer. My companion and I alighted. There was no house near; a bright streak in the east under the heavy black clouds showed that it was just daybreak, and ahead of us in the road a great light from the windows of a long building showed us the place of the hospital of the cordon.

"Our guide, for so he proved to be, taking the knapsack of my companion and a basket of mine, in which I carry my portfolio and maps, struck off to the left into a newly ploughed field, while our carriage proceeded at a quick pace onward again. I asked where we were going, but got no other reply than 'Doucement, monsieur.' It then for the first time flashed across my mind that we had undertaken an unlawful and very hazardous enterprise, that of running by the cordon. I had now, however, no alternative; I must follow, for I knew not what other course to take.

"After passing through ploughed fields and wet grass and grain for some time a small by-path crossed from the main road. Our guide beckoned us back, while he went forward each way to see that all was clear, and then we crossed and proceeded again over ploughed fields and through the clover. It now began to rain which, disagreeable as it was, I did not regret, all things considered. We soon came to another and wider cross-path; we stopped and our guide went forward again in the same cautious manner, stooping down and listening, like an Indian, near the ground. He beckoned us to cross over and again we traversed the fields, passing by the base of a small hill, when, as we softly crept up the side, we saw the form of a sentinel against the light of the sky. Our guide whispered, 'Doucement' again, and we gently retreated, my companion whispering to me, 'Très dangèreux, monsieur, très désagréable.'

"We took a wider circuit behind some small buildings, and at length came into one of the smaller streets in the outskirts of Forbach. Here were what appeared to me barracks. The caution was given to walk softly and separately (we were all, fortunately, in dark clothes), our guide passing first round the corners, and, having passed the sentry-boxes, in which, with one exception, we saw no person, and in this instance the sentinel did not hail us (but this was in the city), we came to a house at the window of which our guide tapped. A man opened it, and, after some explanation, ascertaining who we were, opened the door and, striking a light, set some wine and bread before us.

"Here we remained for some time to recover breath after our perilous adventure, for, if one of the sentinels had seen us, we should in all probability have been instantly shot. I knew not that we were now entirely free from the danger of being arrested, until we heard our carriage in the street and had ascertained that all our luggage had passed the douane without suspicion. We paid our guide eight francs each, and, taking our seats again in the carriage, drove forward toward Metz."

There were no further adventures, although they trembled with anxiety every time their passports were called for. Morse regretted having been innocently led into this escapade, and would have made a clean breast of it to the police, as he had not been near Frankfort, but he feared to compromise his travelling companion who had come from that city.

On September 12 they finally arrived in Paris.

"How changed are the circumstances of this city since I was last here nearly two years ago. A traitor king has been driven into exile; blood has flowed in its streets, the price of its liberty; our friend, the nation's guest, whom I then saw at his house, with apparently little influence and out of favor with the court, the great Lafayette, is now second only to the king in honor and influence as the head of a powerful party. These and a thousand other kindred reflections, relating also to my own circumstances, crowd upon me at the moment of again entering this famous city."