In the great hall in which the examinations are held, (the student told me this with a slight shudder,) stands a Spanish organ, built for the grand Armada.—Much more interesting are the portraits of Swift and Burke: both physiognomies express the known qualities of the men. The one has an expression as acute and sarcastic as it is native and original: the other, full of intellect and power, somewhat blunt, but yet benevolent and honest, announces the thundering orator who contended sincerely and without reserve for his opinion, but never glossed over his own interest with affected enthusiasm for others.
After visiting the Courts of Justice, the Custom-house, and other magnificent buildings, I was going home, when I was tempted by the advertisement of a ‘Peristrephic Panorama’ of the battle of Navarino. This is a very amusing sight; and gives so clear an idea of that ‘untoward event,’ that one may console one’s self for not having been there. You enter a small theatre,—the curtain draws up, and behind it is discovered the pictures which represent, in a grand whole, the series of the several incidents of the fight. The canvas does not hang straight down, but is stretched in a convex semicircle, and moved off slowly upon rollers, so that the pictures are changed almost imperceptibly, and without any break between scene and scene. A man describes aloud the objects represented; and the distant thunder of cannon, military music, and the noise of the battle, increase the illusion. By means of panoramic painting, and a slight undulation of that part which represents the waves and the ships, the imitation almost reaches reality.
The first scene represents the bay of Navarino with the whole Turkish fleet in order of battle. At the opposite extremity of the bay is seen Old Navarino and its fortress perched on a high rock; on the side of it the village of Pylos, and in the foreground the city of Navarino with Ibrahim’s camp, where groups of fine horses, and beautiful Greek prisoners surrounded by their captors, attract the eye. In the distance, just at the extremity of the horizon, the allied fleets are faintly descried. This picture slowly disappears, and is succeeded by the open sea,—the entrance to the bay of Navarino then gradually succeeds. You distinguish the armed men on the rocks, and at length see the allied fleet forcing the passage. By some optical deception everything appears of its natural size; and the spectator seems to be placed in the Turkish position in the bay, and to see the admiral’s ship, the Asia, bearing down upon him with all sails set. You see Admiral Codrington on the deck in conversation with the captain. The other vessels follow in extending lines, and with swelling sails, as if ready for the attack;—a glorious sight! Next follow the separate engagements of the several ships, the explosion of a fireship, and the sinking of some Turkish frigates. Lastly, the engagement between the Asia and the Egyptian admiral’s ship on the one side, and the Turkish on the other, both of which, as you know, sank after an obstinate defence of many hours.
The battle is succeeded by some views of Constantinople, which give a very lively idea of Asiatic scenes and habits.
In the evening I visited the theatre; a very pretty house, with a somewhat less rough and obstreporous audience than those of London. The actors were not bad, though none of them rose above mediocrity. Numerous uniforms were intermingled among the ladies in the lower tier of boxes, which seemed to be elegantly filled. The higher classes, however, as I am told, seldom visit the theatre here, any more than in London.
August 13th.
Having seen enough of the city, I have begun my rides in the neighbourhood, which is much more beautiful than its appearance at my first approach, on the least favourable side, led me to expect. A road commanding charming views,—first of the bay, which is intersected by a mole five miles in length, and bounded at either extremity by the two light-houses of Dublin and Howth, rising like columns in the distance; then of the mountains of Wicklow, some clothed with wood, some rising like sugar-loaves high above the others; and lastly, along an avenue of noble elms by the side of a canal,—brought me to the Phœnix Park, the Prater of Dublin, which in no respect yields to that of Vienna, whether we regard its expanse of beautiful turf for riding, long avenues for driving, or shady walks. A large but ill-proportioned obelisk is erected here to the Duke of Wellington. I found the park rather empty, but the streets through which I returned full of movement and bustle. The dirt, the poverty, and the ragged clothing of the common people often exceed all belief. Nevertheless they seem always good-natured, and sometimes have fits of merriment in the open streets which border on madness;—whiskey is generally at the bottom of this. I saw a half-naked lad dance the national dance in the market-place so long, and with such violent exertion, that at last he fell down senseless amid the cheers of the spectators, totally exhausted, like a Mohammedan dervise.
The streets are crowded with beggar-boys, who buzz around one like flies, incessantly offering their services. Notwithstanding their extreme poverty, you may trust implicitly to their honesty; and wretched, lean, and famished as they appear, you see no traces of melancholy on their open, good-natured countenances. They are the best-bred and most contented beggar-boys in the world. Such a little fellow will run by your horse’s side for hours, hold it when you alight, go on any errand you like; and is not only contented with the few pence you give him, but full of gratitude, which he expresses with Irish hyperbole. The Irishman appears generally more patient than his neighbours, but somewhat degraded by long slavery.
I was witness among other things to this:—A young man had pasted up a wrong play-bill: the manager of the theatre came up and hit him a slap on the face, and otherwise ill-treated him, without his making any resistance; an Englishman would have made instant reprisals.
I passed the evening in the family circle of an old acquaintance, a brother of the Lord-lieutenant, who was just come to town for a few days. We talked over old times, as we had been much together in London. He has a remarkable talent for imitating the late Kemble, whom he resembles in person. I thought I saw Coriolanus and Zanga again.