For the Southern Literary Messenger.
A LEAF FROM THE JOURNAL OF A YOUNG AMERICAN TOURIST IN ITALY.
The "sable goddess" had been seated for some time upon her "ebon throne," when we passed through the ponderous gate and rattled along the principal street of Genoa the Proud. It was a beautiful night. The firmament was studded with sparkling gems, and the silver queen rode steadily in the heavens, diffusing that pure and hallowed illumination which prompted the ancients to worship her as the goddess of chastity, and uninterrupted by any of those envious clouds whose intervention between her face and the earth furnishes poets with so favorite a figure to express the idea of virtue obscured and oppressed with misfortune. It was not, however, a night in which "creation sleeps,"—or, to use the pompous phrase of Racine, in which "tout dort, et les vents et Neptune,"—for the wind was tempestuously high, and the waves evinced all their usual restlessness at being roughly visited by the subjects of old Æolus. As we whirled along, nothing like an animated being was to be seen; not even a mouse was stirring; and the rush and whistling of the wind through the street, seemed to bring out the solemn stillness which otherwise prevailed, into the strongest relief. How we strained our eyes to catch glimpses of the glorious palaces which have so filled the trump of fame, and to which the city is indebted for her magnificent title! And how impressive, how imposing was their appearance in the partial development and mellowed effect of their splendor, afforded by the beams of the moon! The whole street was one consecutive, uninterrupted row of princely buildings,—and exquisite indeed was the effect of light and shade there exhibited—"leaving that lovely which was so, and making that which was not."
We had given directions to be taken to the Hotel of the Cross of Malta—L'Albergo della Croce di Malta, and when the carriage stopped, we got out with the expectation of being at our destined domicil. No sign, however, of a hotel was visible, and one of our party began to make an accompaniment to the noise of the wind by storming a little at the postillions for not obeying his orders,—when the courier informed us that we were as near as the vehicle could get to the house, as it was located in a street hard by, too narrow for any but pedestrians. This position of one of the principal hotels of a city denominated la superba, appeared singular enough, and with our ideas of its superbness somewhat diminished, we followed the man a short distance up a lane in which two persons could scarcely walk abreast, until we reached the door of the establishment, whose aspect was not particularly inviting, in despite of its towering altitude. Our fears, however, as to the manner in which we might be accommodated, or rather unaccommodated, were soon put to rest, when we mounted the spacious stairway, and were ushered into a suite of apartments which to the simplicity of an American, republican eye, wore an air of absolute magnificence.
What a difference there was between the first aspect of things in this our Hotel of the Cross of Malta, and that which is presented in the places of entertainment for man and horse in the United States. Instead of being ushered into a bar-room filled with the fumes of whiskey and tobacco, crowded with boots to be blackened, decorated with "tintanabulent appendages" innumerable, and affording palpable evidence in every way that the establishment is as much entitled to the motto, "e pluribus unum," as the government of the country itself, we were received at the portal by a single domestic and conducted to our rooms without seeing or hearing the slightest indication that any other "mortal mixture of earth's mould" besides ourselves, was in the house. And then the difference in the appearance of the apartments! The recollection of the closets or pigeon holes, styled chambers by the courtesy of our mother tongue, so limited in their dimensions, that like the cell of the poor Hibernian, in which he "did nothing but walk up and down," you cannot "stand in them at all," furnished with a bed, a wash-stand, two chairs, and a looking glass, in which you may see one moiety of your face at a time, if you exert yourself with sufficient industry, did not certainly excite any very lively regrets, as we gazed on the spacious apartments glittering with mirrors, the walls and ceiling frescoed and gilded ad unguem, mantles supported by sculptured goddesses, chairs and lounges covered with damask, and beds so richly curtained and attired, that it seemed as if one could scarcely sleep in them, for thinking of the luxury in which he was reposing. The hotel was formerly a palace, whose glories, in part, it still retains. Yet, to tell the truth and shame a certain nameless gentleman, before my head had been long laid upon the pillow, I would willingly have exchanged the grandeur and the spaciousness of the room in which I was courting the sweet restorer of tired nature, for the plainness and contractedness of any of the closets to which I have alluded. Verily I paid for my magnificence. Never did I suffer from cold as on that night—the very exercise which I took in shaking and shivering ought to have induced perspiration, but in spite of a respectable quantity of bed-clothes, with the addition of all my habiliments piled on top of them, I could not make myself warm enough to allow the god of sleep to exercise his balmy influence upon my eyes for an instant. Italian dwellings, unfortunately, as I thought then, are constructed much more in reference to the weather of the torrid than of the frigid zone. Every method is devised of letting in as much of the coolness of the external atmosphere as possible, and of adapting the materials of the apartments to the nullification of all caloric; and the one in which I was quaking, was in no way an exception to the prevalent custom. The marble floors and unpapered walls, notwithstanding the warmth of the colors with which the latter were filled, created a resistless disposition to chilliness in themselves; the wind came pouring through several windows, reaching almost from the ceilings to the floor, whose looseness provided it with abundant facility for ingress; no fire-place offered its aid for combating the power of the blusterer; and the bed in which I lay, curled up into a heap, to prevent the "genial current" from entirely freezing, was of amplitude commensurate with the dimensions of the chamber. Napoleon, with his whole staff, might have been accommodated in it, when he visited Genoa. Whenever I attempted to make a change of position, I might as well have fallen into an ice-house. What joy when the morning's light dawned upon my eyes! Never did I observe the maxim with regard to early rising with so much good-will, as when I left the inhospitable couch, determined not to entrust myself to it again. By the time I had dressed I was as near congelation as I well could be; the only thing that kept my blood in circulation was the prospect of an exhilirating fire in the sitting-room, and there I steered with all possible speed; but alas, for human expectations! On opening the door my optics were immediately filled with smoke, and as they are not of that "nice" character which are requisite "to see what is not to be seen," I could discern nothing like a blaze. The badly constructed hearth manifested the most invincible repugnance to permit the wood to ignite, but kindly enabled us to obtain all the warmth we could from fumigation. I confess I became somewhat dispirited. One of my motives in coming to Italy was to escape the cold of the winter at home, and here on my very entrance into its mild and genial atmosphere, as it is always called, had I suffered more chattering of the teeth than I ever did before for the same length of time. This may be an escape thought I, but if it is, it is one amazingly like that of Lieutenant O'Shangnessy, who escaped from the field of battle into the ranks of the enemy.
W.
NEW ENGLAND.
The place from which the following letter is indited, can be forgotten by no one that has ever seen it. A fine view of Northampton may be had from the top of the Mansion House, where the visiter commonly abides; but whoever ascends Mount Holyoke, is rewarded for his pains, with a prospect of surpassing beauty. In Virginia, we may have from our summits, a view of mountains on the one hand, and on the other a country comparatively level, with occasional spots of cultivation; but there is seldom any greater variety. Nothing else is afforded by the Peaks of Otter. Mount Holyoke, furnishes a combination of beauties. The spectator beholds mountains and lowland; a country wild and rugged in one direction and in the highest state of cultivation in another. He has before him the lovely village of Northampton, with others not far distant. And the Connecticut, is seen winding its way, amongst its fertile meadows, in so circuitous and yet so regular a manner, as to make the country on its banks resemble a beautiful parterre. The water prospect gives to the scene its chief source of interest. Mount Holyoke, rises not so high as Catskill; nor is the Connecticut so distant from it, as the Hudson from the latter. And it is owing to this, that the water view, is finer from its summit, than from the Pine Orchard. The distance is sufficient to "lend enchantment to the view"—not so great as to prevent a spectator from seeing any beautiful object that a nearer view would embrace, with all the distinctness that is desirable. A Virginian, who has high authority for supposing that a visit to Harper's Ferry is worth a trip across the Atlantic, may ask if Mount Holyoke surpasses this famous Virginia scene. State pride must yield to candor, and acknowledge that it does. The prospect from what is called the Eagle Rock, two miles distant from Harper's Ferry on the Loudoun side, is certainly very fine, and calculated to remove in some degree that disappointment, which one who has read Mr. Jefferson's description is apt to feel, when the scene from the Jefferson Rock is first beheld by him. But the view of the streams at Harper's Ferry, beheld from any point, cannot compare in beauty with the Connecticut at Northampton. And, in other respects, Harper's Ferry must yield to Mount Holyoke. It will not do to put the workshops of the former against the beautiful villages seen from the latter. Harper's Ferry cannot in any way obtain pre-eminence, until the spectator becomes conscious of the justness of Mr. Jefferson's opinion as to the mode in which the water first passed through the Blue Ridge. And, to be able to acknowledge the correctness of that opinion, must be a work of some difficulty after looking at the Potomac and Shenandoah, and seeing how small a power is produced by the two streams combined.