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.