Travels Through France And Italy by Tobias Smollett (fastest ebook reader .txt) 📕

Different Kinds Of Coloured Marble, For The Use Of The Emperor.

The Italians Call It Pietre Commesse, A Sort Of Inlaying With

Stones, Analogous To The Fineering Of Cabinets In Wood. It Is

Peculiar To Florence, And Seems To Be Still More Curious Than The

Mosaic Work, Which The Romans Have Brought To Great Perfection.

The Cathedral Of Florence Is A Great Gothic Building, Encrusted

On The Outside With Marble; It Is Remarkable For Nothing But Its

Cupola, Which Is Said To Have Been Copied By The Architect Of St.

Peter's At Rome, And For Its Size, Which Is Much Greater Than

That Of Any Other Church In Christendom.  [In This Cathedral Is

The Tomb Of Johannes Acutus Anglus, Which A Man Would Naturally

Interpret As John Sharp; But His Name Was Really Hawkwood, Which

The Italians Have Corrupted Into Acut. He Was A Celebrated

General Or Condottiere Who Arrived In Italy At The Head Of Four

Thousand Soldiers Of Fortune, Mostly Englishmen Who Had Served

With Him In The Army Of King Edward Iii., And Were Dismissed At

The Peace Of Bontigny. Hawkwood Greatly Distinguished Himself In

Italy By His Valour And Conduct, And Died A Very Old Man In The

Florentine Service. He Was The Son Of A Tanner In Essex, And Had

Been Put Apprentice To A Taylor.] The Baptistery, Which Stands By

It, Was An Antient Temple, Said To Be Dedicated To Mars. There

Are Some Good Statues Of Marble Within; And One Or Two Of Bronze

On The Outside Of The Doors; But It Is Chiefly Celebrated For The

Embossed Work Of Its Brass Gates, By Lorenzo Ghiberti, Which

Buonaroti Used To Say, Deserved To Be Made The Gates Of Paradise.

I Viewed Them With Pleasure: But Still I Retained A Greater

Veneration For Those Of Pisa, Which I Had First Admired: A

Preference Which Either Arises From Want Of Taste, Or From The

Charm Of Novelty, By Which The Former Were Recommended To My

Attention. Those Who Would Have A Particular Detail Of Every

Thing Worth Seeing At Florence, Comprehending Churches,

Libraries, Palaces, Tombs, Statues, Pictures, Fountains, Bridge,

Etc. May Consult Keysler, Who Is So Laboriously Circumstantial In

His Descriptions, That I Never Could Peruse Them, Without

Suffering The Headache, And Recollecting The Old Observation,

That The German Genius Lies More In The Back Than In The Brain.

I Was Much Disappointed In The Chapel Of St. Lorenzo.

Notwithstanding The Great Profusion Of Granite, Porphyry, Jasper,

Verde Antico, Lapis-Lazuli, And Other Precious Stones,

Representing Figures In The Way Of Marquetry, I Think The Whole

Has A Gloomy Effect. These Pietre Commesse Are Better Calculated

For Cabinets, Than For Ornaments To Great Buildings, Which Ought

To Be Large Masses Proportioned To The Greatness Of The Edifice.

The Compartments Are So Small, That They Produce No Effect In

Giving The First Impression When One Enters The Place; Except To

Give An Air Of Littleness To The Whole, Just As If A Grand Saloon

Was Covered With Pictures Painted In Miniature. If They Have As

Little Regard To Proportion And Perspective, When They Paint The

Dome, Which Is Not Yet Finished, This Chapel Will, In My Opinion,

Remain A Monument Of Ill Taste And Extravagance.

The Court Of The Palace Of Pitti Is Formed By Three Sides Of An

Elegant Square, With Arcades All Round, Like The Palace Of 

Holyrood House At Edinburgh; And The Rustic Work, Which

Constitutes The Lower Part Of The Building, Gives It An Air Of

Strength And Magnificence. In This Court, There Is A Fine

Fountain, In Which The Water Trickles Down From Above; And Here

Is Also An Admirable Antique Statue Of Hercules, Inscribed

Lusippoi Ergon, The Work Of Lysippus.

The Apartments Of This Palace Are Generally Small, And Many Of

Them Dark. Among The Paintings The Most Remarkable Is The Madonna

De La Seggiola, By Raphael, Counted One Of The Best Coloured

Pieces Of That Great Master. If I Was Allowed To Find Fault With

The Performance, I Should Pronounce It Defective In Dignity And

Sentiment. It Is The Expression Of A Peasant Rather Than Of The

Mother Of God. She Exhibits The Fondness And Joy Of A Young Woman

Towards Her Firstborn Son, Without That Rapture Of Admiration

Which We Expect To Find In The Virgin Mary, While She

Contemplates, In The Fruit Of Her Own Womb, The Saviour Of

Mankind. In Other Respects, It Is A Fine Figure, Gay, Agreeable,

And Very Expressive Of Maternal Tenderness; And The Bambino Is

Extremely Beautiful. There Was An English Painter Employed In

Copying This Picture, And What He Had Done Was Executed With

Great Success. I Am One Of Those Who Think It Very Possible To

Imitate The Best Pieces In Such A Manner, That Even The

Connoisseurs Shall Not Be Able To Distinguish The Original From

The Copy. After All, I Do Not Set Up For A Judge In These

Matters, And Very Likely I May Incur The Ridicule Of The

Virtuosi For The Remarks I Have Made: But I Am Used To Speak My

Mind Freely On All Subjects That Fall Under The Cognizance Of My

Senses; Though I Must As Freely Own, There Is Something More Than

Common Sense Required To Discover And Distinguish The More

Delicate Beauties Of Painting. I Can Safely Say, However, That

Without Any Daubing At All, I Am, Very Sincerely--Your

Affectionate Humble Servant.

Dear Sir,--Having Seen All The Curiosities Of Florence, And Hired

A Good Travelling Coach For Seven Weeks, At The Price Of Seven

Zequines, Something Less Than Three Guineas And A Half, We Set

Out Post For Rome, By The Way Of Sienna, Where We Lay The First

Night. The Country Through Which We Passed Is Mountainous But

Agreeable. Of Sienna I Can Say Nothing From My Own Observation,

But That We Were Indifferently Lodged In A House That Stunk Like

A Privy, And Fared Wretchedly At Supper. The City Is Large And 

Well Built: The Inhabitants Pique Themselves Upon Their

Politeness, And The Purity Of Their Dialect. Certain It Is, Some

Strangers Reside In This Place On Purpose To Learn The Best

Pronunciation Of The Italian Tongue. The Mosaic Pavement Of Their

Duomo, Or Cathedral, Has Been Much Admired; As Well As The

History Of Aeneas Sylvius, Afterwards Pope Pius Ii., Painted On

The Walls Of The Library, Partly By Pietro Perugino, And Partly

By His Pupil Raphael D'urbino.

Next Day, At Buon Convento, Where The Emperor Henry Vii. Was

Poisoned By A Friar With The Sacramental Wafer, I Refused To Give

Money To The Hostler, Who In Revenge Put Two Young Unbroke Stone-Horses

In The Traces Next To The Coach, Which Became So Unruly,

That Before We Had Gone A Quarter Of A Mile, They And The

Postilion Were Rolling In The Dust. In This Situation They Made

Such Efforts To Disengage Themselves, And Kicked With Such

Violence, That I Imagined The Carriage And All Our Trunks Would

Have Been Beaten In Pieces. We Leaped Out Of The Coach, However,

Without Sustaining Any Personal Damage, Except The Fright; Nor

Was Any Hurt Done To The Vehicle. But The Horses Were Terribly

Bruised, And Almost Strangled, Before They Could Be Disengaged.

Exasperated At The Villany Of The Hostler, I Resolved To Make A

Complaint To The Uffiziale Or Magistrate Of The Place. I Found

Him Wrapped In An Old, Greasy, Ragged, Great-Coat, Sitting In A

Wretched Apartment, Without Either Glass, Paper, Or Boards In The

Windows; And There Was No Sort Of Furniture But A Couple Of

Broken Chairs And A Miserable Truckle-Bed. He Looked Pale, And

Meagre, And Had More The Air Of A Half-Starved Prisoner Than Of A

Magistrate. Having Heard My Complaint, He Came Forth Into A Kind

Of Outward Room Or Bellfrey, And Rung A Great Bell With His Own

Hand. In Consequence Of This Signal, The Postmaster Came Up

Stairs, And I Suppose He Was The First Man In The Place, For The

Uffiziale Stood Before Him Cap-In-Hand, And With Great Marks Of

Humble Respect Repeated The Complaint I Had Made. This Man

Assured Me, With An Air Of Conscious Importance, That He Himself

Had Ordered The Hostler To Supply Me With Those Very Horses,

Which Were The Best In His Stable; And That The Misfortune Which

Happened Was Owing To The Misconduct Of The Fore-Postilion, Who

Did Not Keep The Fore-Horses To A Proper Speed Proportioned To

The Mettle Of The Other Two. As He Took The Affair Upon Himself,

And I Perceived Had An Ascendancy Over The Magistrate, I

Contented Myself With Saying, I Was Certain The Two Horses Had

Been Put To The Coach On Purpose, Either To Hurt Or Frighten Us;

And That Since I Could Not Have Justice Here I Would Make A

Formal Complaint To The British Minister At Florence. In Passing

Through The Street To The Coach, Which Was By This Time Furnished

With Fresh Horses, I Met The Hostler, And Would Have Caned Him

Heartily; But Perceiving My Intention, He Took To His Heels And

Vanished. Of All The People I Have Ever Seen, The Hostlers,

Postilions, And Other Fellows Hanging About The Post-Houses In

Italy, Are The Most Greedy, Impertinent, And Provoking. Happy Are

Those Travellers Who Have Phlegm Enough To Disregard Their