Observations and Reflections Made in the Course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany, Vol. 2 (of 2) by Hester Lynch Piozzi

Author:Hester Lynch Piozzi [Piozzi, Hester Lynch]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary, Classics, Fiction & Literature
ISBN: 9783744720410
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Bod Third Party Titles
Published: 2019-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

We went again however to see Virgil’s field, and recollected that tenet nunc Parthenope; congratulated the giants on their superiority over Pietro de Cortona’s paltry creatures, in one of the Roman palaces; and drove forward to Parma, through bad roads enough.

This Mantua is a very disagreeable town; nor was Romeo wrong in lamenting his banishment to it; for though I will not say with him that—

There is no world without Verona’s walls;

yet it must be allowed that few places do unite such various excellencies, and that the contrast is very striking between that city and this.

Parma exhibits an appearance somewhat different from all the rest; yet we should scarcely have visited it but for the sake of the four surprising pictures it contains: the Madona della Scodella is nature itself; and St. Girolamo exhibits such a proof of fancy and fervour, as are almost inconceivable; the general effect, and the difficulty one has to take one’s eye off it, afford conviction of its superior merit, and greatly compensate for that taste, character, and expression, which are found only in the Caraccis and their school. Corregio was perhaps one of the most powerful geniusses that has appeared on earth; destitute of knowledge, or of the means of acquiring it, he has left glorious proofs of what uninstructed man may do, and is perhaps a greater honour to the human species, than those who, from fermenting erudition of various kinds, produce performances of more complicated worth. The Fatal Curiosity, and Pilgrim’s Progress, will live as long as the Prince of Abyssinia, or Les Avantures de Telemaque, perhaps: and who shall dare say, that Lillo, Bunyan, and Antonio Corregio, were not naturally equal to Johnson, Michael Angelo, and the Archbishop of Cambray?—Have I said enough, or can enough be ever said in praise of a painter, whose works the great Annibale Caracci delighted to study, to copy, and to praise?

Piacenza we found to offer us few objects of attention: an improvisatore, and not a very bad one, amused that time which would otherwise have been passed in lamenting our paucity of entertainment; while his artful praises of England put me in good humour, spite of the weather, which is too hot to bear. With all our lamentations about the heat however, here is no cicala on the trees, or lucciola in the hedges, as at Florence; the days are a little longer too, and the crepuscule less abrupt in its departure. How often, upon the Ponte della Trinitá, have I secretly regretted the long-drawn evenings of an English summer; when the dewy night-fall refreshes the air, and silent dusk brings on a train of meditations uninspired by Italian skies! In this decided country all that is not broad day is dark night; all that is not loud mirth, is penitence and grief; when the rain falls, it falls in a torrent; when the sun shines, it glows like a burning-glass; where the people are rich, they stick gems in their very walls, and

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