The vine in Tuscany is not kept close to the ground as in France, but is trained in arbors and festoons along the borders of wheat-fields, and when their leaves appear must add very much to the beauty of the country. One here could sit under the shade of his vine, which would be out of the question in France. But the boat is leaving the harbor. On the right we can dimly discern the northern extremity of Corsica. Elba we shall pass in the night, and sometime in the course of the morning be landed in Civita Vecchia. I have made the acquaintance of an English clergyman of warm piety, who is in ill health, who has been obliged to reside for several years in Nice in the winter, and at Interlaken in Switzerland in the summer, at both of which places he preaches regularly. He has traveled in Greece, Turkey, and Asia Minor, and passed much time with our missionaries there, of whom he speaks in the warmest terms. His name is Hartley. We shall go on in company to Rome.
Rome, 1st May, 1839, Wednesday evening.
And I am indeed in Rome. This is enough to repay one for long and tedious journeys and even for transient separation from friends, and when I leave this place I feel as though my face was set homeward. I feel it is something to be in Rome....
I distinctly recollect the time when, a very small boy, in the course of a long ride with a relative, the story of Romulus and Remus was first related to me, and how it struck my wondering fancy. And I recollect most perfectly my first lesson in Virgil, and how, commencing with “Arma virumque cano,” I slowly worked my way into the mysteries of Latin prosody and the story of the Æneid. Little did I think in those days that I should ever stand within the “walls of lofty Rome;”
“Should tread the Appian
Or climb the Palatine, and stand within those very walls
Where Virgil read aloud his tale divine.”
My enthusiasm has risen by degrees, for I arrived here this morning, after a delay at that most wretched of all places, Civita Vecchia, where an Austrian soldier, stationed there, told us he was sent as to a kind of earthly purgatory to do penance for his sins; after being subjected to those numberless petty exactions by which the purse of the pope is replenished from the pockets of us poor Protestants, after tedious delays on the road, and a most uncomfortable ride for the whole night, which altogether is enough to put one in a bad humor with everything,—after all this you may be sure I found myself in such a prosaic care-for-nothing mood that it was a long time before I could feel the interest which the Eternal City is calculated to inspire. A fog in the morning prevented us from a good view on our approach; the streets of the modern town through which we passed were mostly devoid of interest, and we saw nothing but the dome of St. Peter’s and the Castle of St. Angelo. However, we got established at the Hôtel d’Allemagne, and took breakfast. Mr. Hartley, being worn out by the journey, took to his room for the day, and I was left to myself. Though perfectly ignorant of localities here, I was determined not to be deprived of the satisfaction of discovering the most interesting places for myself. My guide-book (Madame Starke) describes objects somewhat particularly, but gives no information as to where they are to be found. I hate the chatter of a cicerone, and felt confident that I should stumble upon something worth seeing. So I climbed the hill just before me by a magnificent flight of marble steps, where the Egyptian obelisk stands which the inscription says was found in the Circus of Sallust. I saw an imposing building at the end of a long avenue, on the summit of a rise which I afterwards learned was the Esquiline Hill. On reaching it and examining the interior I found by the guide-book that it was the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. These basilicas, retaining the name of ancient structures, are a larger kind of churches, which were mostly established upon the foundations of ancient temples, or they were these temples themselves turned into churches....
As I emerged from the Coliseum I stood between the Palatine and the Cælian Hills, the Arch of Constantine just before me, the Arch of Titus in view on the right hand, and just beyond the Roman Forum, all crowded with ruins; the very soil is mouldering brickwork and fragments of columns. Here I spent the greater part of the morning, silent and undisturbed, finding out by the description the ruins as they presented themselves....
The journal is so long that most of the Italian, more especially the Roman, journey must be omitted. Dr. Gray, as is shown, was a busy sightseer, enjoying the historical and romantic associations with his natural enthusiasm. Here began his great love of painting, of sculpture, and of architecture; he carried the details of churches and cathedrals in his memory remarkably, recognizing quickly a print or photograph of something he had seen perhaps thirty years before; he had the memory for form which helped him so much in his science. He was a good critic of painting and enjoyed extremely his favorite pictures, liking to wander off alone to enjoy them. Titian on the whole ranked highest in his estimation. He enjoyed much of the old church music, though his preference in music was for simple songs, hymns especially, and the old tunes to which words had long been wedded. There are many quotations from Byron and Rogers in the original journal. For Byron, with his brilliant descriptions and versification, he always kept much feeling; and his great love of natural scenery had full play.
TO MRS. TORREY.
Leghorn, May 8.