Travels Through France And Italy - Tobias Smollett (diy ebook reader .TXT) 📗

So-And-So Had Arrived, Left The

Room Not To Return Again That Morning. Before The Same Statue

Another Distinguished Countryman Used To Pass An Hour Daily. His

Acquaintance Respected His Raptures And Kept Aloof; But A Young

Lady, Whose Attention Was Attracted By Sounds That Did Not Seem

Expressive Of Admiration, Ventured To Approach, And Found The

Poet Sunk In Profound, But Not Silent, Slumber. From Such

Absurdities As These, Or Of The Enthusiast Who Went Into Raptures

About The Head Of The Elgin Ilissos (Which Is Unfortunately A

Headless Trunk), We Are Happily Spared In The Pages Of Smollett.

In Him Complete Absence Of Gush Is Accompanied By An Independent

Judgement, For Which It May Quite Safely Be Claimed That Good

Taste Is In The Ascendant In The Majority Of Cases.

 

 

 

From Florence Smollett Set Out In October 1764 For Siena, A

Distance Of Forty-Two Miles, In A Good Travelling Coach; He Slept

There, And Next Day, Seven And A Half Miles Farther On, At Boon

Convento, Hard By Montepulciano, Now Justly Celebrated For Its

Wine, He Had The Amusing Adventure With The Hostler Which Gave

Occasion For His Vivid Portrait Of An Italian Uffiziale, And Also

To That Irresistible Impulse To Cane The Insolent Hostler, From

The Ill Consequences Of Which He Was Only Saved By The

Underling's Precipitate Flight. The Night Was Spent At

Radicofani, Five And Twenty Miles Farther On. A Clever Postilion

Diversified The Route To Viterbo, Another Forty-Three Miles. The

Party Was Now Within Sixteen Leagues, Or Ten Hours, Of Rome. The

Road From Radicofani Was Notoriously Bad All The Way, But

Smollett Was Too Excited Or Too Impatient To Pay Much Attention

To It. "You May Guess What I Felt At First Sight Of The City Of

Rome."

 

 

 

"When You Arrive At Rome," He Says Later, In Somewhat More

Accustomed Vein, "You Receive Cards From All Your Country Folk In

That City. They Expect To Have The Visit Returned Next Day, When

They Give Orders Not To Be At Home, And You Never Speak To One

Another In The Sequel. This Is A Refinement In Hospitality And

Politeness Which The English Have Invented By The Strength Of

Their Own Genius Without Any Assistance Either From France,

Italy, Or Lapland." It Is Needless To Recapitulate Smollett's

Views Of Rome. Every One Has His Own, And A Passing Traveller's

Annotations Are Just About As Nourishing To The Imagination As A

Bibliographer's Note On The Bible. Smollett Speaks In The Main

Judiciously Of The Castle Of St. Angelo, The Piazza And The

Interior Of St. Peter's, The Pincian, The Forum, The Coliseum,

The Baths Of Caracalla, And The Other Famous Sights Of Successive

Ages. On Roman Habits And Pastimes And The Gullibility Of The 

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English Cognoscente He Speaks With More Spice Of Authority. Upon

The Whole He Is Decidedly Modest About His Virtuoso Vein, And

When We Reflect Upon The Way In Which Standards Change And Idols

Are Shifted From One Pedestal To Another, It Seems A Pity That

Such Modesty Has Not More Votaries. In Smollett's Time We Must

Remember That Hellenic And Primitive Art, Whether Antique Or

Medieval, Were Unknown Or Unappreciated. The Reigning Models Of

Taste In Ancient Sculpture Were Copies Of Fourth-Century

Originals, Hellenistic Or Later Productions. Hence Smollett's

Ecstasies Over The Laocoon, The Niobe, And The Dying Gladiator.

Greek Art Of The Best Period Was Hardly Known In Authentic

Examples; Antiques So Fine As The Torso Of Hercules Were Rare.

But While His Failures Show The Danger Of Dogmatism In Art

Criticism, Smollett Is Careful To Disclaim All Pretensions To The

Nice Discernment Of The Real Connoisseur. In Cases Where Good

Sense And Sincere Utterance Are All That Is Necessary He Is

Seldom Far Wrong. Take The Following Description For Example:--

 

 

 

"You Need Not Doubt But That I Went To The Church Of St. Peter In

Montorio, To View The Celebrated Transfiguration By Raphael,

Which, If It Was Mine, I Would Cut In Two Parts. The Three

Figures In The Air Attract The Eye So Strongly That Little Or No

Attention Is Paid To Those Below On The Mountain. I Apprehend

That The Nature Of The Subject Does Not Admit Of That Keeping And

Dependence Which Ought To Be Maintained In The Disposition Of The

Lights And Shadows In A Picture. The Groups Seem To Be Entirely

Independent Of Each Other. The Extraordinary Merit Of This Piece,

I Imagine, Consists Not Only In The Expression Of Divinity On The

Face Of Christ, But Also In The Surprising Lightness Of The

Figure That Hovers Like A Beautiful Exhalation In The Air."

 

 

 

Smollett's Remarks About The "Last Judgement" Of Michael Angelo,

(That It Confuses The Eye As A Number Of People Speaking At Once

Confounds The Ear; And That While Single Figures Are Splendid,

The Whole Together Resembles A Mere Mob, Without Subordination,

Keeping, Or Repose) Will Probably Be Re-Echoed By A Large

Proportion Of The Sightseers Who Gaze Upon It Yearly. But His

Description Of The "Transfiguration" Displays An Amount Of Taste

And Judgement Which Is Far From Being So Widely Distributed. For

Purposes Of Reproduction At The Present Day, I May Remind The

Reader That The Picture Is Ordinarily "Cut In Two." And The

Nether Portion Is Commonly Attributed To Raphael's Pupils, While

The "Beautiful Exhalation," As Smollett So Felicitously Terms It,

Is Attributed Exclusively To The Master When At The Zenith Of His

Powers. His General Verdict Upon Michael Angelo And Raphael Has

Much In It That Appeals To A Modern Taste. Of Raphael, As A

Whole, He Concludes That The Master Possesses The Serenity Of

Virgil, But Lacks The Fire Of Homer; And Before Leaving This Same

Letter Xxxiii, In Which Smollett Ventures So Many Independent

Critical Judgements, I Am Tempted To Cite Yet Another Example Of 

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His Capacity For Acute Yet Sympathetic Appreciation.

 "In The Palazzo Altieri I Admired A Picture, By Carlo Maratti,

Representing A Saint Calling Down Lightning From Heaven To

Destroy Blasphemers. It Was The Figure Of The Saint I Admired,

Merely As A Portrait. The Execution Of The Other Parts Was Tame

Enough; Perhaps They Were Purposely Kept Down In Order To

Preserve The Importance Of The Principal Figure. I Imagine

Salvator Rosa Would Have Made A Different Disposition On The Same

Subject--That Amidst The Darkness Of A Tempest He Would Have

Illuminated The Blasphemer With The Flash Of Lightning By Which

He Was Destroyed. This Would Have Thrown A Dismal Gleam Upon His

Countenance, Distorted By The Horror Of His Situation As Well As

By The Effects Of The Fire, And Rendered The Whole Scene

Dreadfully Picturesque."

 

 

 

Smollett Confuses Historical And Aesthetic Grandeur. What Appeals

To Him Most Is A Monument Of A Whole Past Civilization, Such As

The Pont Du Gard. His Views Of Art, Too, As Well As His Views Of

Life, Are Profoundly Influenced By His Early Training As A

Surgeon. He Is Not Inclined By Temperament To Be Sanguine. His

Gaze Is Often Fixed, Like That Of A Doctor, Upon The End Of Life;

And Of Art, As Of Nature, He Takes A Decidedly Pathological View.

Yet, Upon The Whole, Far From Deriding His Artistic Impressions,

I Think We Shall Be Inclined Rather To Applaud Them, As Well For

Their Sanity As For Their Undoubted Sincerity.

 

 

 

For The Return Journey To Florence Smollett Selected The

Alternative Route By Narni, Terni, Spoleto, Foligno, Perugia, And

Arezzo, And, By His Own Account, No Traveller Ever Suffered Quite

So Much As He Did From "Dirt," "Vermin," "Poison," And Imposture.

At Foligno, Where Goethe Also, In His Travels A Score Of Years Or

So Later, Had An Amusing Adventure, Smollett Was Put Into A Room

Recently Occupied By A Wild Beast (Bestia), But The Bestia Turned

Out On Investigation To Be No More Or No Less Than An "English

Heretic." The Food Was So Filthy That It Might Have Turned The

Stomach Of A Muleteer; Their Coach Was Nearly Shattered To

Pieces; Frozen With Cold And Nearly Devoured By Rats. Mrs.

Smollett Wept In Silence With Horror And Fatigue; And The Bugs

Gave The Doctor A Whooping-Cough. If Smollett Anticipated A

Violent Death From Exhaustion And Chagrin In Consequence Of These

Tortures He Was Completely Disappointed. His Health Was Never

Better,--So Much So That He Felt Constrained In Fairness To Drink

To The Health Of The Roman Banker Who Had Recommended This

Nefarious Route. [See The Doctor's Remarks At The End Of Letter

Xxxv.] By Florence And Lerici He Retraced His Steps To Nice Early

In 1765, And Then After A Brief Jaunt To Turin (Where He Met

Sterne) And Back By The Col Di Tende, He Turned His Face

Definitely Homewards. The Journey Home Confirmed His Liking For

Pisa, And Gives An Opening For An Amusing Description Of The

Britisher Abroad (Letter Xxxv). We Can Almost Overhear Thackeray, 

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Or The Author Of Eothen, Touching This Same Topic In Letter Xli.

"When Two Natives Of Any Other Country Chance To Meet Abroad,

They Run Into Each Other's Embrace Like Old Friends, Even Though

They Have Never Heard Of One Another Till That Moment; Whereas

Two Englishmen In The Same Situation Maintain A Mutual Reserve

And Diffidence, And Keep Without The Sphere Of Each Other's

Attraction, Like Two Bodies Endowed With A Repulsive Power."

Letter Xxxvi Gives Opportunity For Some Discerning Remarks On

French Taxation. Having Given The French King A Bit Of Excellent

Advice (That He Should Abolish The Fermiers Generaux), Smollett

Proceeds, In 1765, To A Forecast Of Probabilities Which Is Deeply

Significant And Amazingly Shrewd. The Fragment Known As

Smollett's Dying Prophecy Of 1771 Has Often Been Discredited. Yet

The Substance Of It Is Fairly Adumbrated Here In The Passage

Beginning, "There Are Undoubtedly Many Marks Of Relaxation In The

Reins Of French Government," Written Fully Six Years Previously.

After A Pleasing Description Of Grasse, "Famous For Its Pomatum,

Gloves, Wash-Balls, Perfumes, And Toilette Boxes Lined With

Bergamot," The Homeward Traveller Crossed The French Frontier At

Antibes, And In Letter Xxxix At Marseille, He Compares The Galley

Slaves Of France With Those Of Savoy. At Bath Where He Had Gone

To Set Up A Practice, Smollett Once Astonished The Faculty By

"Proving" In A Pamphlet That The Therapeutic Properties Of

The Waters Had Been Prodigiously Exaggerated. So, Now, In The

South Of France He Did Not Hesitate To Pronounce Solemnly That

"All Fermented Liquors Are Pernicious To The Human Constitution."

Elsewhere He Comments Upon The Immeasurable Appetite Of The

French For Bread. The Frenchman Will Recall The Story Of The

Peasant-Persecuting Baron Whom Louis Xii. Provided With A

Luxurious Feast, Which The Lack Of Bread Made Uneatable; He May

Not Have Heard A Story Told Me In Liege