CHAPTER XII

FROM ROME, THROUGH TRIESTE AND VIENNA, TO

CUXHAVEN

MORRITT's journey homewards from Rome was by no means easy or safe; and, as before, whether by luck or good management, he just got through in time. In 1796 Bonaparte began his victorious Italian campaign, arriving at Nice to take command of his army on March 27, a few days after Morritt reached Rome. By a series of successful actions, from Montenotte on April 10 to Mondevi on April 21, he had forced upon the King of Sardinia a treaty which gave the French a control of Piedmont, with free passage for their troops, and the possession of the fortified towns Cuneo, Ceva, and Alessandria. The victory at Lodi enabled him to occupy Milan on May 15. Brescia, then belonging to Venice, was occupied on the 28th; the passage of the Mincio forced and Verona occupied on June 3. Further south Bologna was entered on June 19. Meantime, in the north, the army of Sambre and Meuse had crossed the Rhine-Kleber's division on June and Jourdan's main army by June 12though they did not at that time maintain their hold on the right bank. Moreau, in command of the army of the Rhine and Moselle, crossed at Kehl, and established himself there on June 25.

The reasons therefore are clear which caused Morritt to give up his three or four weeks at Florence after he left Rome in April, to abandon his plan of going from Venice to the Tyrol at the end of May, and to travel instead by the Adriatic to Trieste; and why, when he reached Dresden from Vienna on June 23, he chose the passage to England from Cuxhaven instead of from a more westerly port.

I write to you at last from Rome, and from the middle day of the Holy Week; therefore I hope my letter will carry with it all the salutary influence which so sacred an air can communicate. I wish I could think it would carry to England a little of the ancient fire that warmed their Fabricii and Scipios; it might be of some service against your beloved friends the sansculottes.

We arrived here on Saturday last, and opened the campaign at Rome, therefore, precisely at the right time, namely, with Holy Sunday. We took a last leave of Naples on Thursday last, after having spent the three or four last days of our stay in farewell visits to our favourite views, and in parties upon the water, which the weather is by this warm enough to make agreeable. You know how I admire this charming bay, and every object within fifty miles of Naples; the view of the town itself from the water, notwithstanding all that is said about it, is, however, certainly inferior to that of Constantinople and Pera, when not so near as to remark the badness of the buildings. The point of the Seraglio, and the numberless mosques and domes that rise above the town, are leading features which the other has not. Part of Naples, too, being flat, does not present itself as the other does, which is everywhere on declivities, and the town is at best scarce half so large. Your map will show you how much the beautiful canals of Pera and the Bosphorus must exceed a plain semicircle in varying the scene as your boat moves to different points of view; but in every other beautyof foliage, cultivation, outline, and prospect-the paradise round Naples exceeds not only it, but, I believe, every other country in the world-I mean when on shore. I assure you we left it with some regret, and a few of our friends with more, so that we hardly were

consoled by the fine succession of beautiful scenery from hence to Terracina.

It is, I believe, our fate never more to travel like other people; for in a good chaise, with good roads and several good inns, we cannot get on without adventures. We slept at Mola di Gaeta, and left a good bed at half-past three in the morning, roused by the alarming news that a King's courier had hired, or rather ordered, all the post-horses in three hours from that time for Prince Xavier de Saxe, whom we had seen at Naples, and who told us he should not set off till the day after. We hurried off while it was time, and were very democratic in our remarks on people that had more horses than ourselves, till after breakfast, which rather softened us. At the last post, however, in the territory of Naples, where we arrived at seven, the postmaster, who kept also a miserable doghole of an alehouse, pretexted the king's order and stopped our course, as he chose to have our company. We did not like his, and his room still less, as one was dishonest, and the other full of fleas, lice, and bugs.

We therefore, after more growling at our superiors (which comes well out of a chaise-and-four, and sounds consistent), walked about to cool, and hoped for his arrival about midday; five hours being the variation between Court watches and common clocks ever since the time of King Stephen in England. In arbitrary government it is more, and Prince Xavier not coming, we undertook about one o'clock to walk to Terracina, where there is a good inn, and we had only one stretch of fourteen miles. To stay where we were was out of the question, so off we set, and left our carriage to follow. When we had advanced about two miles it began to rain, but, inspired by that quality men call perseverance in their own sex and obstinacy in yours, we continued our march. This, however, was stopped about two miles beyond, when we were almost wet through, as a guard-house is built on the frontiers of

1796]

HOLY WEEK AT ROME

295

St. Januarius's and St. Peter's dominions, where our passports were asked for. We had left them in the carriage, and were not sorry to be stopped and shown into a covered guard-room. This was better than the inn we had left, and we sat waiting patiently for events. At last the Prince passed, about six in the evening, and no horses were left for us. We had therefore to stay all or most of the night; so, making up our minds, we sent a note to my servants, and got some fish and salad which the soldiers had intended for themselves. They gave us a bed in the guard-house, and on the return of the Prince's horses, at last we got liberated at about two in the morning, and few people can say they have been so plagued and pestered between Rome and Naples. The next day we got here without more misfortunes.

March 29.

My letter has lain idle for some days: not so my legs and my eyes, which are here in continual exercise in this inexhaustible scene of curiosity and wonder: the functions of Holy Week are the general lounge for the English and foreigners who are here at the time; and Rome has lately been full of processions and Church ceremonies from morning till night. As more or less gold and silver lace makes all the difference of all the processions I ever saw, I own I was not infinitely struck with all this, neither did I even deign to be half squeezed to death to see the Pope wash the pilgrims' feet and serve them to dinner in the Vatican, which is reckoned a great sight. He washes feet like other people, and they eat much in the same way. I own, however, the grand Benediction from the front of St. Peter's has a fine effect, and that fine building is in its glory on these days when it is full of people, and the area before it covered with people and carriages. One can scarce help smiling in these days to hear the Bull of Excommunication against Heretics, which makes a part of the ceremony, and to see scraps of

paper thrown from St. Peter's, as if to carry the anathema all over the world. I wish I could have caught one for your entertainment. The music of the Holy Week is more worth attention, and the miserere, performed by voices alone without instruments, is one of those fine effects of which hearing alone can convey an idea.

When we had not any particular object of this sort, we have been running from ruin to ruin and from palace to palace. If I could tell you half what I have seen I should be deservedly thought one of the best describers in the world. I first saw St. Peter's. Of its size and proportions I can say nothing new, but I have looked at it a hundred times, and still can scarce imagine it so large as St. Paul's or York Minster. The first reason of this deception, which everybody feels, is the symmetry and wonderful mutual dependence of its immense parts, and the foreshortening of the beautiful circular colonnade before it, which always makes you appear nearer than you are. Within, the immense dome, and the nave supported by only four immense arches on each side, take off from its length, while the long-drawn Gothic aisles of York Minster increase it considerably. The thick, hazy smoke of London is alone sufficient to make St. Paul's look higher, but in ornaments and internal arrangement they fall every way short of the Roman cathedral. In the front there are great architectural blunders, and the miserable superstition of its forming a cross has fettered the noblest plan ever conceived by man, and induced in many instances a departure from the designs of Michael Angelo, whose idea was to have shortened the middle aisle and to have made it rather a grand portico, with the dome rising over it. The circular colonnade before it has the most chaste and noble effect, and no church equals it in approach. I prefer, in point of architecture, the principal façade of St. Paul's to that of St. Peter's, exclusive of this, and I wonder such a front could be built with the Pantheon before their eyes. The dome