165 quotes found
"I should perhaps do the reader a service by telling him just how a week at Perugia may be spent. His first care must be to ignore the very dream of haste, walking everywhere very slowly and very much at random, and to impute an esoteric sense to almost anything his eye may happen to encounter. Almost everything in fact lends itself to the historic, the romantic, the æsthetic fallacy--almost everything has an antique queerness and richness that ekes out the reduced state; that of a grim and battered old adventuress, the heroine of many shames and scandals, surviving to an extraordinary age and a considerable penury, but with ancient gifts of princes and other forms of the wages of sin to show, and the most beautiful garden of all the world to sit and doze and count her beads in and remember."
"I left Perugia on a lovely morning, and experienced the joy of being on my own again. The city is in a beautiful position and the view of the lake is truly a delight: those sights are now well engraved in my mind's eye."
"...the greatest Greek city and the most beautiful of them all..."
"In the extreme part of this island, there is a fresh water source named Arethusa, of incredible width, very full of fish, whose flow would be overwhelmed if it were not divided from the sea by a massive stone wall."
"Stretched in front of a bay of Sicily lies an islet over against wavebeat Plemyrium; they of old called it Ortygia. Hither Alpheus the river of Elis, so rumour runs, hath cloven a secret passage beneath the sea, and now through thy well-head, Arethusa, mingles with the Sicilian waves."
"Naples is the flower of paradise. The last adventure of my life."
"I won't say another word about the beauties of the city and its situation, which have been described and praised often. As they say here, "Vedi Napoli e poi muori! — See Naples and die!" One can't blame the Neapolitan for never wanting to leave his city, nor its poets singing its praises in lofty hyperboles: it would be wonderful even if a few more Vesuviuses were to rise in the neighbourhood."
"A Mediterranean Paris. Such is Naples."
"All things in Naples are arranged with as much civility as possible."
"Naples is not a city, it is a world. Naples is not only in Naples, you can find it everywhere, even in Germany. The ‘Neapolitan spirit’ is unique. It is clear that every city has its own warmth, Naples has it but in a different way, this city experiences things passionately, with a love that is different from all others. I cannot say whether it is better or worse than other places, but Naples is certainly different."
"The turmoil and the daily come and go made Naples a populated and fibrillating city like Paris."
"Naples and Paris: the two only capitals."
"Naples sitteth by the sea, keystone of an arch of azure, Crowned by consenting nations peerless queen of gayety: She laugheth at the wrath of Ocean, she mocketh the fury of Vesuvius, She spurneth disease, and misery, and famine, that crowd her sunny streets."
"O fair, false city, thou gay and gilded harlot! Wo for thy wanton heart, wo for thy wicked hardness! Wo unto thee, that the lightsomeness of life, beneath Italian suns, Should meet the solemnity of death, in a sepulchre so foul and fearful!"
"Another revolution! Naples free and all of Italy in insurrection! How wonderful has been the march of the human mind in these last thirty years … so may it be till the last link of the chains of slavery is broken and the banner of freedom waves over the whole earth!"
"Naples, moreover, remained essentially impervious to Fascism. The same was true of the notables who, even in 1922, on the eve of the March on Rome, had applauded Mussolini at the San Carlo Theatre until their hands were sore. The people were equally indifferent to Mussolini's slogans, due to their atavistic scepticism (a flaw that can sometimes become a virtue)."
"Si fueris Romæ, Romano vivito more; Si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi."
"When I am at Rome I fast as the Romans do; when I am at Milan I do not fast. So likewise you, whatever church you come to, observe the custom of the place, if you would neither give offence to others, nor take offence from them."
"Despise this union of discordant races! To defend oneself by alliance is proof of cowardice."
"I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble."
"When I am at Rome, I fast on a Saturday: when I am at Milan I do not. Do the same. Follow the custom of the church where you are."
"When in Rome do as the Romans"
"Now conquering Rome doth conquered Rome inter, And she the vanquished is, and vanquisher. To show us where she stood there rests alone Tiber; and that too hastens to be gone. Learn, hence what fortune can. Towns glide away; And rivers, which are still in motion, stay."
"Looking back on Rome's success, it is all too easy to conclude that its victories were preordained. It is almost as if Rome arose with consummate certainty from the seven hills, gaining such a height that seemingly it could not be challenged. But in almost every phase of Rome's history there were crises."
"Every one soon or late comes round by Rome."
"When they are at Rome, they do there as they see done."
"O Rome! my country! city of the soul!"
"When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls—the World."
"You cheer my heart, who build as if Rome would be eternal."
"Cuando á Roma fueres, haz como vieres."
"Y á Roma por todo."
"Quod tantis Romana manus contexuit annis Proditor unus iners angusto tempore vertit."
"Leave for a while thy costly country seat; And, to be great indeed, forget The nauseous pleasures of the great: Make haste and come: Come, and forsake thy cloying store; Thy turret that surveys, from high, The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome; And all the busy pageantry That wise men scorn, and fools adore: Come, give thy soul a loose, and taste the pleasures of the poor."
"A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself within. The essential causes of Rome's decline lay in her people, her morals, her class struggle, her failing trade, her bureaucratic despotism, her stifling taxes, her consuming wars."
"The traveler who has contemplated the ruins of ancient Rome may conceive some imperfect idea of the sentiments which they must have inspired when they reared their heads in the splendor of unsullied beauty."
"Yes, I have finally arrived to this Capital of the World! I now see all the dreams of my youth coming to life... Only in Rome is it possible to understand Rome."
"It was scarcely possible that the eyes of contemporaries should discover in the public felicity the latent causes of decay and corruption. This long peace, and the uniform government of the Romans, introduced a slow and secret poison into the vitals of the empire. The minds of men were gradually reduced to the same level, the fire of genius was extinguished, and even the military spirit evaporated. The natives of Europe were brave and robust. Spain, Gaul, Britain, and Illyricum, supplied the legions with excellent soldiers, and constituted the real strength of the monarchy. Their personal valour remained, but they no longer possessed that public courage which is nourished by the love of independence, the sense of national honour, the presence of danger, and the habit of command. They received laws and governors from the will of their sovereign, and trusted for their defence to a mercenary army. The posterity of their boldest leaders was contented with the rank of citizens and subjects. The most aspiring spirits resorted to the court or standard of the emperors; and the deserted provinces, deprived of political strength or union, insensibly sunk into the languid indifference of private life."
"Veuve d'un peuple-roi, mais reine encore du monde."
"Rome was ruined more by neglect of agriculture, and giving no attention to useful trade and commerce, than by the invasion of barbarians."
"Rome, Rome, thou art no more As thou hast been! On thy seven hills of yore Thou sat'st a queen."
"Omitte mirari beatæ Fumum et opes strepitumque Romæ."
"Never before has any city in the world had so a wonderful adventure. Its history is so big that even the huge crimes it is littered with look tiny. Maybe one of the troubles of Italy is exactly this: to have a capital city that is disproportionate, for name and past history, to the modesty of a people that, when shouting "go for it, Rome!", is only referring to a football team."
"The woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth. ... Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues; for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes. ... In her heart she boasts, ‘I sit enthroned as queen. I am not a widow; I will never mourn.’"
"In tears I tossed my coin from Trevi's edge. A coin unsordid as a bond of love— And, with the instinct of the homing dove, I gave to Rome my rendezvous and pledge. And when imperious Death Has quenched my flame of breath, Oh, let me join the faithful shades that throng that fount above."
"Tous chemins vont à Rome; ainsi nos concurrents Crurent, pouvoir choisir des sentiers différents."
"What's Rome to me, what business have I there?"
"A thousand roads lead men forever to Rome."
"Rome, old lady of the world, in the name of our glorious dead who gave their life to make wonderful days possible, we salute you!"
"Exaudi, regina tui pulcherrima mundi, inter sidereos Roma recepta polos, exaudi, genetrix hominum genetrixque deorum, non procul a caelo per tua templa sumus."
"... The , lost after province, fell into complete ruin. Yet, as it wasted and vanished, the Church, enthroned in the ancient city, waxed stronger and more stately, century and century extending her spiritual conquests. So Rome remained the universal and eternal power, a lighthouse whose steady and inextinguishable rays had from the beginning of time, so men thought, shone into the dark corners of the earth and were destined to shine on, as men hoped, until the ."
"Rome was not built in a day."
"See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!"
"Septem urbs alta jugis, toti quæ præsidet orbi."
"In any case, an alternative to summit meetings was emerging. For centuries it had been customary to send envoys on specific, short-term missions. But by the mid–fifteenth century the tightly knit but feuding city states of northern Italy—Venice, Florence, Milan and Rome—kept permanent ambassadors in key cities in order to gather intelligence and foster alliances. In due course their governments created chanceries to manage the mounting mass of paper. From 1490 the great powers of Europe followed suit, led by Spain. It became normal to have at each of the major courts a resident “ambassador”—a word defined by the English poet and diplomat Sir Henry Wotton in a punning epigram as “a man sent to lie abroad for his country’s good.” Given the time required for travel, and the hazards en route—especially in an age of dynastic and religious warfare—permanent ambassadors offered a convenient substitute for personal summitry. And their detailed reports required the attention of specialist secretaries who oversaw foreign affairs, such as Francis Walsingham in Elizabethan London or Antonio Perez at the court of Philip III. Day-to-day diplomacy tended to slip out of the hands of rulers."
"I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!"
"I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman."
"New Rome will be destroyed by the attacks of new vandals."
"Utinam populus Romanus unam cervicem haberet!"
"Luciano often gets asked whether he's Italian when traveling overseas with the team and someone hears his accent."No," he will reply. "We are from Rome!""
"The story of Romulus and Remus being suckled by a wolf is not a meaningless fable. The founders of every State which has risen to eminence have drawn their nourishment and vigor from a similar wild source. It was because the children of the Empire were not suckled by the wolf that they were conquered and displaced by the children of the Northern forests who were."
"From the dome of St. Peter's one can see every notable object in Rome... He can see a panorama that is varied, extensive, beautiful to the eye, and more illustrious in history than any other in Europe."
"The teacher reminded us that Rome's liberties were not auctioned off in a day, but were bought slowly, gradually, furtively, little by little; first with a little corn and oil for the exceedingly poor and wretched, later with corn and oil for voters who were not quite so poor, later still with corn and oil for pretty much every man that had a vote to sell—exactly our own history over again."
"Rome wasn't all built in a day."
"Sit Romana potens Itala virtute propago"
"Anyone who sees Matera cannot help but be awe-struck, so expressive and touching is its sorrowful beauty."
"Archaeologically the most interesting town in Italy."
"Houses 10, one above another like seats in a theatre, built down the sides of an oval hole; more men cannot stand on a mountain than on the under plain. Dined in a garden, offered by a farrier of the town as we were looking for a tree in the suburbs ; the man very civil and well behaved, which is the general character."
"I wanted to come to this town for 40 years: it's wonderful. There is a wonderful view from my hotel room that surprised and moved me."
"Matera is like a giant beehive–solid looking on the outside, but actually made up almost entirely of tunnels, passageways, chambers and chambers atop chambers [...] still very much alive, gaunt and barren, and strangely beautiful, had stood for millennia and may stand for millennia to come."
"Some parts of the city are two thousand years old and it looks very much like what ancient Judea must have looked like. The architecture of the city, its rocks and the surrounding landscape are all excellent backdrops. The first time I saw Matera, I went crazy, because it was simply perfect."
"Yes, it is true that King David was a flop, but I’d do it all over again, because it gave me the opportunity to discover a remarkable city, Matera, which I would never have otherwise got to know."
"A morning's ramble made me acquainted with all the characteristic beauties of the place, which is a perfect tame oasis among much uninteresting scenery. The picturesque buildings of the city (which seems to occupy the site of some ancient place); the valley below it, with its clear stream and great walnut-trees; the numerous fountains ; the innumerable caves in the rocks around, now used as stabling for goats, which cluster in swarthy multitudes on tiers of crags ; the convents and shrines scattered here and there in the suburbs ; the crowded houses and the lofty spires of the interior ; and the perfectly Poussinesque castle, with its fine corner tower commanding the whole scene: so many fine features in a circumscribed space it is not common to see, even in Italy."
"Its streets are narrow, to protect from the direct rays of the sun; it had at one time been defended by walls, but they are now in a dilapidated state. I was struck by the fine appearance of the cathedral and theatre, which had in early times been the hall, where the baronial councils of the Normans, who occupied this part of Italy, were held."
"The rich city that to the Normans will be a beginning from which to grow great in Apulia."
"With the main lines of business monopolized by the increasingly narrow elite, the decline was under way. Venice appeared to have been on the brink of becoming the world’s first inclusive society, but it fell to a coup. Political and economic institutions became more extractive, and Venice began to experience economic decline. By 1500 the population had shrunk to one hundred thousand. Between 1650 and 1800, when the population of Europe rapidly expanded, that of Venice contracted. Today the only economy Venice has, apart from a bit of fishing, is tourism. Instead of pioneering trade routes and economic institutions, Venetians make pizza and ice cream and blow colored glass for hordes of foreigners. The tourists come to see the pre-Serrata wonders of Venice, such as the Doge’s Palace and the lions of St. Mark’s Cathedral, which were looted from Byzantium when Venice ruled the Mediterranean. Venice went from economic powerhouse to museum."
"General Grant seriously remarked to a particularly bright young woman that Venice would be a fine city if it were drained."
"Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy."
"Venice by moonlight is an enchanted city; the floods of silver light upon the moresco architecture, the perfect absence of all harsh sounds of carts and carriages, the never-ceasing music on the waters, produced an effect on the mind which cannot be experienced, I am sure, in any other city in the world."
"Venice's government, eager to maintain its Jewish tax base, officially discouraged the blood libel, but the population was more inspired by the renowned Venetian poet laureate Raffaele Zovenzoni-whose hymn describing the sainted child's murder, which begged authorities to protect the people from bloodthirsty Jews, went viral. Within a few generations, Venice's brilliant idea of imprisoning Jews in ghettos went viral too."
"Since, furthermore, it was in late-medieval and early modern Europe that new techniques of warfare occurred more frequently than elsewhere, it was not implausible that one such breakthrough could enable a certain nation to dominate its rivals. Already the signs pointed to an increasing concentration of military power. In Italy the use of companies of crossbowmen, protected when necessary by soldiers using pikes, had brought to a close the age of the knight on horseback and his accompanying ill-trained feudal levy; but it was also clear that only the wealthier states like Venice and Milan could pay for the new armies officered by the famous condottieri. By around 1500, moreover, the kings of France and England had gained an artillery monopoly at home and were thus able, if the need arose, to crush an overmighty subject even if the latter sheltered behind castle walls. But would not this tendency finally lead to a larger transnational monopoly, stretching across Europe? This must have been a question many asked around 1550, as they observed the vast concentration of lands and armies under the Emperor Charles V."
"Italy is, after France and perhaps in the same degree, the land in which love of country has the deepest roots in the hearts of its inhabitants. The fact is that perhaps nowhere else has nature been so prodigal with its enchantments and seductions. Therefore, although Italy has been, since the fall of the Caesars, the object of European covetousness, the eternal battlefield of powerful neighbors, and the theatre of the fiercest and most prolonged civil wars, her children have always refused to leave her. Save for some commercial colonies hastily thrown upon the shores of Asia by Genoa and Venice, history has not, in fact, recorded in Italy any important outward movement of population."
"The Pope, anxiously revolving the sad vicissitudes of the Christians in the east, turned to Venice and Genoa, praying them for the love of Christ to combine and save the fair island of Cyprus, still unpolluted by the presence of the infidels. But the lion of St Mark was a fierce yoke-fellow. The more restricted the field of influence became between Venice and Genoa the more bitter grew their jealousy. Two fleets were, however, fitted out in response to the Papal appeal. Their prows had scarcely touched Cyprian waters when a fight took place between some of the allied ships, and to the edification of the Saracen the two greatest maritime powers of Christendom were soon engaged in mutual destruction."
"I think he suspected I was lying; but it was the sort of large-scale, flamboyant lie that appealed to him. As he told me later, only pettiness annoyed him. He delighted in color and movement, and in the protean appearance of things. In this respect, he told me, he was a true Venetian. Like many other subjects of the Serenissima, he believed in style over content, art over life, appearance over reality, and form over substance. He believed simultaneously in fate and free will. He viewed life as a sort of Renaissance melodrama, complete with unexpected appearances and disappearances, heartrending confrontations, preposterous coincidences, disguises and doubles, switched twins and mysteries of birth; all revolving around an obscure and melancholy point of honor. And, of course, he was perfectly right."
"Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty."
"Turin is a very fine city. In the matter of roominess it transcends anything that was ever dreamed of before, I fancy. It sits in the midst of a vast dead-level, and one is obliged to imagine that land may be had for the asking, and no taxes to pay, so lavishly do they use it. The streets are extravagantly wide, the paved squares are prodigious, the houses are huge and handsome, and compacted into uniform blocks that stretch away as straight as an arrow, into the distance. The sidewalks are about as wide as ordinary European STREETS, and are covered over with a double arcade supported on great stone piers or columns. One walks from one end to the other of these spacious streets, under shelter all the time, and all his course is lined with the prettiest of shops and the most inviting dining-houses.There is a wide and lengthy court, glittering with the most wickedly enticing shops, which is roofed with glass, high aloft overhead, and paved with soft-toned marbles laid in graceful figures; and at night when the place is brilliant with gas and populous with a sauntering and chatting and laughing multitude of pleasure-seekers, it is a spectacle worth seeing.Everything is on a large scale; the public buildings, for instance--and they are architecturally imposing, too, as well as large. The big squares have big bronze monuments in them. At the hotel they gave us rooms that were alarming, for size, and parlor to match. It was well the weather required no fire in the parlor, for I think one might as well have tried to warm a park. The place would have a warm look, though, in any weather, for the window-curtains were of red silk damask, and the walls were covered with the same fire-hued goods--so, also, were the four sofas and the brigade of chairs. The furniture, the ornaments, the chandeliers, the carpets, were all new and bright and costly. We did not need a parlor at all, but they said it belonged to the two bedrooms and we might use it if we chose. Since it was to cost nothing, we were not averse to using it, of course.Turin must surely read a good deal, for it has more book-stores to the square rod than any other town I know of. And it has its own share of military folk."
"Turin, lieber Freund, ist eine capitale Entdeckung ... der erste ort, in dem ich möglich bin!"
"For me, the way to Memphis and Thebes leads through Turin"
"Verbosa ac grandis epistola venit a Capreis."
"Tiberius took with him to Capri a number of learned Greek professors, and a picked force of soldiers, including his German bodyguard, and Thrasyllus, and a number of painted strange-looking creatures of doubtful sex and, the most curious choice of all, Cocceius Nerva. Capri is an island in the Bay of Naples about three miles from the coast. Its climate is mild in winter and cool in summer. There is only one possible landing place, the rest of the island being protected by steep cliffs and impassable thickets. How Tiberius spent his leisure time here—when he was not discussing poetry and mythology with the Greeks, or law and politics with Nerva—is too revolting a story even for history. I shall say no more than that he had brought with him a complete set of the famous books of Elephantis, the most copious encyclopædia of pornography ever gathered together. In Capri he could do what he was unable to do at Rome—practise obscenities in the open air among the trees and flowers or down at the water’s edge, and make as much noise as he liked. As some of his field-sports were extremely cruel, the sufferings of his playmates being a great part of his pleasure, he considered that the advantage of Capri’s remoteness greatly outweighed the disadvantages. He did not live wholly there: he used to go for visits to Capua, Baiæ and Antium. But Capri was his headquarters."
"What the mountainous Isle Seen in the South? ’Tis where a Monster dwelt, Hurling his victims from the topmost cliff; Then and then only merciful, so slow, So subtle, were the tortures they endured. Fearing and feared he lived, cursing and cursed; And still the dungeons in the rock breathe out Darkness, distemper. Strange, that one so vile Should from his den strike terror thro' the world; Should, where withdrawn in his decrepitude, Say to the noblest, be they where they might, 'Go from the earth!' and from the earth they went: Yet such things were—and will be, when mankind, Losing all virtue, lose all energy; And for the loss incur the penalty, Trodden down and trampled."
"There is an isle, kissed by a smiling sea, Where all sweet confluents meet: a thing of heaven, A spent aërolite, that well may be The missing sister of the starry Seven. Celestial beauty nestles at its knee, And in its lap is naught of earthly leaven. ’Tis girt and crowned with loveliness; its year, Eternal summer; winter comes not near.’Tis small, as things of beauty ofttimes are, And in a morning round it you may row, Nor need a tedious haste your bark debar From gliding inwards where the ripples flow Into strange grots whose roofs are azure spar, Whose pavements liquid silver. Mild winds blow Around your prow, and at your keel the foam, Leaping and laughing, freshly wafts you home.They call the island Capri,—with a name Dulling an airy dream, just as the soul Is clogged with body palpable,—and Fame Hath long while winged the word from pole to pole. Its human story is a tale of shame, Of all unnatural lusts a gory scroll, Record of what, when pomp and power agree, Man once hath been, and man again may be. * * * * * Terrace and slope from shore to summit show Of all rich climes the glad-surrendered spoil. Here the bright olive’s phantom branches glow, There the plump fig sucks sweetness from the soil. Mid odorous flowers that through the Zodiac blow, Returning tenfold to man’s leisured toil, Hesperia’s fruit hangs golden. High in air, The vine runs riot, spurning human care.And flowers of every hue and breath abound, Charming the sense; the burning cactus glows, Like daisies elsewhere dappling all the ground, And in each cleft the berried myrtle blows. The playful lizard glides and darts around, The elfin fireflies flicker o’er the rows Of ripened grain. Alien to pain and wrong, Men fill the days with dance, the nights with song."
"Beneath the vine-clad slopes of Capri’s Isle, Which run down to the margin of that sea Whose waters kiss the sweet Parthenope, There is a grot whose rugged front the while Frowns only dark where all is seen to smile. But enter, and behold! surpassing fair The magic sight that meets your vision there,— Not heaven! with all its broad expanse of blue, Gleams colored with a sheen so rich, so rare, So changing in its clear, translucent hue; Glassed in the lustrous wave, the walls and roof Shine as does silver scattered o’er the woof Of some rich robe, or bright as stars whose light Inlays the azure concave of the night.You cannot find throughout this world, I ween, Waters so fair as those within this cave, Color like that which flashes from the wave, Or which is steeped in such cerulean sheen As here gleams forth within this grotto’s screen. And when the oar the boatman gently takes And dips it in the flood, a fiery glow, Ruddy as phosphor, stirs in depths below; Each ripple into burning splendor breaks, As though some hidden fires beneath did lie Waiting a touch to kindle into flame, And shine in radiance on the dazzled eye, As sparkling up from wells of light they came, To make this grot a glory far and nigh."
"Many an archèd roof is bent Over the wave, But none like thine, from the firmament To the shells that at thy threshold lave. What name shall shadow thy rich-blue sheen, Violet, sapphire, or ultramarine, Beautiful cave?Blue,—all blue,—may we not compare it With heaven’s hue, With the pearl-shell, with burning spirit, Or with aught that is azure too? No! for in ghostly realms alone Is the like of thy lustre shone, Cave of blue!Less of earth than the spirit-world, Morning ne’er Waters of thine with its dews impearled, Nor sunrise crimsoned the concave here; But evening in thee hath, as grandly glooms The twilight which thy one star illumes, A rival sphere.And that star—the great eye of heaven Watching thee— Waxes and wanes with morn and even, Beams as the skies beyond may be; Resting on thy horizon’s rim Steadfast, but burning bright and dim Changefully.On thy huge dome and cathedral aisles, Loftier far Than man’s monuments, Capri piles Island rocks, which mountains are. Gleams through the flood thy spangled floor, As light streams in by thine open door On rock and spar.The world without by that sole portal May enter in; And therefore sacred to shapes immortal For classic ages thy halls have been. Sailing along from the lessening skylight, Let us from the deepening twilight Its secrets win.Mermaids, mantled in mazarine, Fancy sees; The ocean-sirens, and her, their queen, Of music-charméd memories. Still breathes the ancient Parthenope, O’er waters of modern Napoli Her melodies.Blue,—blue,—beautiful and intense,— Everywhere: Spirits, or some one spirit immense, Breathing and burning in the air; Making an ardent presence felt, Till the rocks seem as like to melt In the glare!No! they may emit no heat, Those prisoned beams. At noontide, in thy coolness sweet, The glowing Italian summer dreams, And the limpid and sparkling lymph Bath of beauty, in form of nymph, Well beseems.World of wonders and strange delights, Submontane sea, Bowers of branching stalactites, Islands of lapis lazuli, And waves so clear, and air so rich, That, gazing, we know not which is which,— Adieu to thee!To bathe the burning brow is sweet In such baptism, Often to find out truth’s retreat, In sparkling grotto, in cool abysm; So shall deep quiet thy soul imbue, And melt into one harmonious hue The garish prism!"
"Bologna la grassa."
"Bologna the rich (or fat)."
"As seems the Carisenda, to behold Beneath the leaning side, when goes a cloud Above it so that opposite it hangs;Such did seem to me, who stood Watching to see him stoop, and then it was I could have wished to go some other way."
"The Bolognese is full of fire, passion, generosity, and sometimes imprudence."
"Towards evening I got out of this ancient, venerable, and learned city, and extricated myself from its crowds, who, protected from the sun and weather by the arched bowers which are to be seen in almost every street, walk about, gape about, or buy, and sell, and transact whatever business they may have."
"Bologna non è conosciuta quanto essa merita: le sue bellezze severe, l'aspetto tetro delle vie e delle case, le fughe di portici interminati, i giochi di ombre e di luci delle sue vie tortuose e delle sue piazze luminose, gli atrii solenni e i fastosi scaloni, le minuzie decorative delle sue terrecotte, la pacatezza degli ornati seicenteschi non consentono al viaggiatore frettoloso immediati godimenti e non strappano gridi di ammirazione. La città, che ebbe prima fra tutte una civiltà antichissima, che tanta luce irradiò a mezzo dello Studio alleato al fiorire del Comune altamente democratico e umanitario, che produsse pittori a sostenere con magnifico pennello l'arte barocca, va amata pazientemente, va scoperta tratto a tratto, angolo per angolo, atto per atto, intenzione per intenzione."
"Bologna is not as well known as it deserves: its severe beauties, the gloomy appearance of its streets and houses, its endless arcades, the play of shadows and lights of its winding streets and its bright squares, its solemn atriums and sumptuous staircases, the decorative details of its terracottas, the calmness of the seventeenth-century decorations do not allow the hasty traveler immediate enjoyment and do not elicit cries of admiration. The city, which first of all had an ancient civilisation, which radiated so much light through the Studio allied to the flourishing of the highly democratic and humanitarian Municipality, which produced painters to support Baroque art with a magnificent brush, must be loved patiently, it must be discovered step by step, corner by corner, act by act, intention by intention."
"’Twas night; the noise and bustle of the day Were o’er. The mountebank no longer wrought Miraculous cures,—he and his stage were gone; And he who, when the crisis of his tale Came, and all stood breathless with hope and fear, Sent round his cap; and he who thrummed his wire And sang, with pleading look and plaintive strain Melting the passenger. Thy thousand cries, So well portrayed, and by a son of thine, Whose voice had swelled the hubbub in his youth, Were hushed, Bologna,—silence in the streets, The squares, when, hark, the clattering of fleet hoofs; And soon a courier, posting as from far, Housing and holster, boot and belted coat And doublet, stained with many a various soil, Stopt and alighted. ’Twas where hangs aloft That ancient sign, the pilgrim, welcoming All who arrive there, all perhaps save those Clad like himself, with staff and scallop-shell, Those on a pilgrimage. And now approached Wheels, through the lofty porticos resounding, Arch beyond arch, a shelter or a shade As the sky changes. To the gate they came; And, ere the man had half his story done, Mine host received the Master,—one long used To sojourn among strangers, everywhere (Go where he would, along the wildest track) Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost, And leaving footsteps to be traced by those Who love the haunts of genius; one who saw, Observed, nor shunned the busy scenes of life, But mingled not, and mid the din, the stir, Lived as a separate spirit.Much had passed Since last we parted; and those five short years,— Much had they told! His clustering locks were turned Grey; nor did aught recall the youth that swam From Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice, Still it was sweet; still from his eye the thought Flashed lightning-like, nor lingered on the way, Waiting for words. Far, far into the night We sat, conversing,—no unwelcome hour The hour we met; and, when Aurora rose, Rising, we climbed the rugged Apennine."
"Pleasant Verona! With its beautiful old palaces, and charming country in the distance, seen from terrace walks, and stately, balustraded galleries. With its Roman gates, still spanning the fair street, and casting, on the sunlight of to-day, the shade of fifteen hundred years ago. With its marble-fitted churches, lofty towers, rich architecture, and quaint old quiet thoroughfares, where shouts of Montagues and Capulets once resounded, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave, beseeming ornaments, To wield old partizans.With its fast-rushing river, picturesque old bridge, great castle, waving cypresses, and prospect so delightful, and so cheerful! Pleasant Verona!"
"Chorus: Two households, both alike in dignity (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."
"Prince: Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets, And made Verona’s ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate."
"Lady Capulet: Verona’s summer hath not such a flower."
"Friar Lawrence: Hence from Verona art thou banishèd. Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.Romeo: There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence banishèd is banish’d from the world, And world’s exile is death. Then banishèd Is death misterm’d. Calling death banished, Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me."
"Happy the Man, who his whole time doth bound Within th' enclosure of his little ground. Happy the Man, whom the same humble place, (Th' hereditary Cottage of his Race) From his first rising infancy has known, And by degrees sees gently bending down. With natural propension to that Earth Which both preserved his Life, and gave him birth. Him no false distant lights by fortune set. Could ever into foolish wandrings get. He never dangers either saw, or fear'd: The dreadful stormes at Sea he never heard. He never heard the shrill allarms of War, Or the worse noises of the Lawyers Bar. No change of Consuls marks to him the year, The change of seasons is his Calendar. The Cold and Heat, Winter and Summer shows, Autumn by Fruits, and Spring by Flow’rs he knows. He measures Time by Land-marks, and has found For the whole day the Dial of his ground. A neighbouring Wood born with himself he sees. And loves his old contemporary Trees. H’as only heard of near Verona’s Name, And knows it like the Indies, but by Fame. Does with a like concernment notice take Of the Red-Sea, and of Benacus Lake. Thus Health and Strength he to' a third age enjoyes, And sees a long Posterity of Boys. About the spacious World let others roam. The Voyage Life is longest made at home."
"Near to his evening region was the Sun, When Hurgonil with his lamented load, And faithful Tybalt their sad march begun To fair Verona, where the court aboad.They slowly rode till night’s dominion ceast: When infant morn (her scarce wak’d beames display’d) With a scant face peep’d shylie through the east; And seem’d as yet of the black world afraid.But by increase of swift expansive light, The lost horizon was apparent grown, And many tow’rs salute at once their sight; The distant glories of a royal town.Verona, sprung from noble Vera’s name; Whom careless time (still scatt’ring old records Where they are loosly gather’d up by fame) Proclaimes the chief of ancient Tuscan lords.Verona borders on that fatal plaine, Whose barren thirst was quench’d with valiant blood, When the rough Cymbrians by fierce Marius slain, Left hills of bodies where their ensignes stood.So safely proud this town did now appear; As if it but immortal dwellers lack’d; As if Theodoric had ne’r been there, Nor Attila her wealth and beauty sack’d.Here Hurgonill might follow with his eye (As with deep stream it through the city pass’t) The fruitfull and the frighted Adice, Which thence from noise and nets to sea does haste.And on her peopled bank they might behold The toyles of conquest paid with works of pride; The palace of king Agilulf the old, Or monument, for ere ’twas built he dy’d.To it that temple joynes, whose lofty head The prospect of a swelling hill commands; In whose coole wombe the city springs are bred: On Dorique pillers this tall temple stands.This to sooth Heav’n the bloody Clephes built; As if Heav’n’s king so soft and easy were, So meanly hous’d in Heav’n, and kind to guilt, That he would be a tyrant’s tenant here.And now they might arrest their wand’ring sight With that which makes all other objects lost; Makes Lombard greatness flat to Roman height, And modern builders blush, that else would boast;An amphytheater which has controll’d Unheeded conquests of advancing age, Windes which have made the trembling world look old, And the fierce tempests of the Gothick rage,This great Flaminius did in youth erect, Where cities sat to see whole armies play Death’s serious part: but this we may neglect, To mark the bus’ness which begins with day.As day new open’ng fills the hemisphear, And all at once; so quickly ev’ry street Does by an instant op’ning full appear, When from their dwellings busy dwellers meet.From wider gates oppressors sally there; Here creeps the afflicted through a narrow dore; Groans under wrongs he has not strength to bear, Yet seeks for wealth to injure others more.And here the early lawyer mends his pace; For whom the earlier cliant waited long; Here greedy creditors their debtors chase, Who scape by herding in th’ indebted throng.Th’ advent’rous merchant whom a storm did wake, (His ship’s on Adriatic billowes tost) Does hope of eastern winds from steeples take, And hastens there a currier to the coast.* * * * *There from sick mirth neglected feasters reel, Who cares of want in wine’s false Lethe steep. There anxious empty gamsters homeward steal, And fear to wake, ere they begin to sleep.Here stooping lab’rers slowly moving are; Beasts to the rich, whose strength grows rude with ease; And would usurp, did not their rulers’ care With toile and tax their furious strength appease.There th’ aged walk, whose needless carefulness Infects them past the mind’s best med’cine, sleep; There some to temples early vows address, And for th’ ore busie world most wisely weep.To this vast inn where tydes of strangers flow, The morn and Hurgonil together came; The morn, whose dewy wings appear’d but slow, When men the motion mark’d of swifter Fame.For Fame (whose journeys are through ways unknown, Traceless and swift, and changing as the wind) The morn and Hurgonil had much out-gone, Whilst Truth mov’d patiently within behind."
"Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three With their imperial presence shine on thee; Honoured by them, thy treacherous site forgets The vaunted tomb of all the Capulets; Thy Scaligers—for what was Dog the Great, Can Grande (which I venture to translate,) To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new; Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; And Dante’s exile sheltered by thy gate; Thy good old man, whose world was all within Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in: Would that the royal guests it girds about Were so far like, as never to get out! Ay, shout! inscribe! rear monuments of shame, To tell Oppression that the world is tame; Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage, The comedy is not upon the stage; The show is rich in ribandry and stars, Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars; Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, For thus much still thy fettered hands are free!"
"Cross Adria’s gulf, and land where softly glide A stream’s crisp waves, to join blue Ocean’s tide; Still westward hold thy way, till Alps look down On old Verona’s walled and classic town. Fair is the prospect; palace, tower, and spire, And blossomed grove, the eye might well admire; Heaven-piercing mountains capped with endless snow, Where winter reigns, and frowns on earth below; Old castles crowning many a craggy steep, From which in silver sounding torrents leap: Southward the plain where Summer builds her bowers, And floats on downy gales the soul of flowers; Where orange-blossoms glad the honeyed bee, And vines in festoons wave from tree to tree; While, like a streak of sky from heaven let fall, The deep blue river, glittering, winds through all; The woods that whisper to the zephyr’s kiss, Where nymphs might taste again Arcadian bliss; The sun-bright hills that bound the distant view, And melt like mists in skies of tenderest blue,— All charm the ravished sense, and dull is he Who, cold, unmoved, such glorious scene can see. Here did the famed Catullus rove and dream, And godlike Pliny drink of Wisdom’s stream; Wronged by his friends, and exiled by his foes, Amid these vales did Dante breathe his woes, Raise demons up, call seraphs from the sky, And frame the dazzling verse that ne’er shall die. Here, too, hath Fiction weaved her loveliest spell, Visions of beauty float o’er crag and dell; But chief we seem to hear at evening hour The sigh of Juliet in her starlit bower, Follow her form slow gliding through the gloom, And drop a tear above her mouldered tomb. Sweet are these thoughts, and in such favoured scene Methinks life’s stormiest skies might grow serene, Care smooth her brow, the troubled heart find rest, And, spite of crime and passion, man be blest. But to our theme: The pilgrim comes to trace Verona’s ruins, not bright Nature’s face; Be still, chase lightsome fancies, ere thou dare Approach yon pile, so grand yet softly fair; The mighty circle, breathing beauty, seems The work of genii in immortal dreams. So firm the mass, it looks as built to vie With Alps’ eternal ramparts towering nigh. Its graceful strength each lofty portal keeps, Unbroken round the first great cincture sweeps; The marble benches, tier on tier, ascend, The winding galleries seem to know no end. Glistening and pure, the summer sunbeams fall, Softening each sculptured arch and rugged wall. We tread the arena; blood no longer flows, But in the sand the pale-eyed violet blows, While ivy, covering many a bench, is seen, Staining its white with lines of liveliest green,— Age-honouring plant! that weds not buildings gay, With love, still faithful, clinging to decay."
"Fame tells us that Verona’s court Was a fair place. The feet might still Wander forever at their will In many ways of sweet resort; And still in many a heart around The poet’s name due honor found.Watch we his steps. He comes upon The women at their palm-playing. The conduits round the gardens sing And meet in scoops of milk-white stone, Where wearied damsels rest and hold Their hands in the wet spurt of gold.One of whom, knowing well that he, By some found stern, was mild with them, Would run and pluck his garment’s hem, Saying, “Messer Dante, pardon me,”— Praying that they might hear the song Which first of all he made, when young.“Donne che avete!” ... Thereunto Thus would he murmur, having first Drawn near the fountain, while she nursed His hand against her side: a few Sweet words, and scarcely those, half said; Then turned, and changed, and bowed his head.* * * * *So you may read and marvel not That such a man as Dante—one Who, while Can Grande’s deeds were done, Had drawn his robe round him and thought— Now at the same guest-table fared Where keen Uguccio wiped his beard.Through leaves and trellis-work the sun Left the wine cool within the glass. They feasting where no sun could pass; And when the women, all as one, Rose up with brightened cheeks to go, It was a comely thing, we know.But Dante recked not of the wine; Whether the women stayed or went, His visage held one stern intent: And when the music had its sign To breathe upon them for more ease, Sometimes he turned and bade it cease.And as he spared not to rebuke The mirth, so oft in council he To bitter truth bore testimony: And when the crafty balance shook Well poised to make the wrong prevail, Then Dante’s hand would turn the scale.And if some envoy from afar Sailed to Verona’s sovereign port For aid or peace, and all the court Fawned on its lord, “the Mars of war, Sole arbiter of life and death,”— Be sure that Dante saved his breath.And Can La Scala marked askance These things, accepting them for shame And scorn, till Dante’s guestship came To be a peevish sufferance: His host sought ways to make his days Hateful; and such have many ways.There was a Jester, a foul lout Whom the court loved for graceless arts; Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts Of speech; a ribald mouth to shout In folly’s horny tympanum Such things as make the wise man dumb.Much loved, him Dante loathed. And so, One day when Dante felt perplexed If any day that could come next Were worth the waiting for or no, And mute he sat amid their din, Can Grande called the Jester in.Rank words, with such, are wit’s best wealth. Lords mouthed approval; ladies kept Twittering with clustered heads, except Some few that took their trains by stealth And went. Can Grande shook his hair And smote his thighs and laughed i’ the air.Then, facing on his guest, he cried,— “Say, Messer Dante, how it is I get out of a clown like this More than your wisdom can provide.” And Dante: “’Tis man’s ancient whim That still his like seems good to him.”Also a tale is told, how once, At clearing tables after meat, Piled for a jest at Dante’s feet Were found the dinner’s well-picked bones; So laid, to please the banquet’s lord, By one who crouched beneath the board.Then smiled Can Grande to the rest:— “Our Dante’s tuneful mouth indeed Lacks not the gift on flesh to feed!” “Fair host of mine,” replied the guest, “So many bones you’d not descry If so it chanced the dog were I.”"
"Grifus ut has angit Sic hostes Janua frangit."
"As the griffin throttles these [beasts], so Genoa crushes her foes."
"Vedrai una città regale, addossata ad una collina alpestre, superba per uomini e per mura, il cui solo aspetto la indica signora del mare."
"Source of Genova la Superba ("Genoa the Proud")"
"Genoa was a bank before it was a city."
"Genua habet portum, mercesque domosque superbas."
"Genoa has a port, goods, and proud houses."
"Cette ville n'a que trois rues, et elle est un des plus belles du monde."
"Genoa has only three streets and yet is one of the most beautiful cities in the world."
"If there were war with Venice a truce was made with Pisa; and whenever there was war with either there was usually peace at home, so that the frequent outbreaks of civil war coincided with periods of external inactivity, and perhaps served to keep the Genoese exercised in the military arts."
"At Genoa the whole Commonweale is governed by them that are borne of the eight and twenty families, and none is called to any charge whatsoever if he be not of this number, which they call an aggregation. Thence are taken the foure hundreth, of whome the great Counsell consisteth, having the whole power and authoritie of the State, and they are chosen from yeare to yeare, out of whom is made another Counsell, which is likewise annuall, called the little Counsel; & this is assembled more often than the great Counsell, and therein the affaires are commonly treated of. For the great Counsell is never held, but for the creation of the Duke and the eight Governours of the Commonweale, which are renued every two yeares, or to consult of peace and warre, and other matters of great consequence. All the Magistrates there, what authority soever they have, are Syndiquez so soone as their charge is expired, that is, they may be accused and called to account."
"South from Piemont and Lumbardy, lieth the Riviera of Genoa, along the Mediterrean sea: the territory of which is narrow, but above one hundreth miles in length: All which is exceeding rocky and mountainous, yet producing good store of Orenges, Lemmons, Figges and Ches-nuts, whereon the Mountaineri onely live, being either rosted, or baked in bread: The chiefe Cities of this Genewesen Liguria, are Genoa and Savona."
"Leaving Piemont, and coasting the sassinous shoare of Genoaes revieroe, I ported Ligorne, the great Dukes Sea-haven; ..."
"17 October 1644. ... We passed over to the Pharos, or Lantern, a tower of very great height. Here we took horses, and made the circuit of the city as far as the new walls, built of a prodigious height, and with Herculean industry; witness those vast pieces of whole mountains which they have hewn away, and blown up with gunpowder, to render them steep and inaccessible. They are not much less than twenty English miles in extent, reaching beyond the utmost buildings of the city. From one of these promontories we could easily discern the island of Corsica; and from the same, eastward, we saw a vale having a great torrent running through a most desolate barren country; and then turning our eyes more northward, saw those delicious villas of St. Pietro d'Arena, which present another Genoa to you, the ravishing retirements of the Genoese nobility. Hence, with much pain, we descended toward the Arsenal, where the galleys lie in excellent order."
"Long before turning the Pharos point which conceals the city, the light-house of Genoa is seen, marking its situation. At length, the city itself bursts upon the view, sweeping round the bay in the form of an amphitheatre, backed by a line of hills, and, together with its harbour crowded with masts, and the venerable fortifications which defend the bay, presenting a very noble and striking appearance."
"At Genoa I remained two days. To the peculiar attractions of a port, and that too a port of the Mediterranean, were added the magnificence and glories of a capital. ... It is not wide, is without side-walks, and but for the structures that line its two sides, would offer nothing remarkable. For more than a mile, however, it is a succession of edifices, that, in any other country but Italy, would be deemed fit for royalty."
"Got here quite comfortably—no heat, just air that one likes to sit out in, and not to walk up hills in. A heavenly place it is. Not so the road here from Savona."
"It is a place that ‘grows upon you’ every day. There seems to be always something to find out in it. There are the most extraordinary alleys and by-ways to walk about in. You can lose your way (what a comfort that is, when you are idle!) twenty times a day, if you like; and turn up again, under the most unexpected and surprising difficulties. It abounds in the strangest contrasts; things that are picturesque, ugly, mean, magnificent, delightful, and offensive, break upon the view at every turn."
"Rien n'annonce mieux l'Italie que Gênes; c'est le digne portique de marbre de cette éternelle galerie qui finit au golfe de Tarente; c'est le péristyle de ce musée qui expose ses tableaux, ses statues, ses villes, sur la muraille des Apennins; et rafraîchit son atmosphère avec les brises croisées de ses deux mers."
"Nothing announces Italy better than Genoa; it is the worthy marble portico of this eternal gallery which ends at the Gulf of Taranto; it is the peristyle of this museum which exhibits its paintings, its statues, its cities, on the wall of the Apennines; and refreshes its atmosphere with the cross breezes of its two seas."
"Я и забыл Вам сказать, что провел в Генуе сутки и в очень хорошем расположении духа. Только вчера начал хандрить. Генуя в своем роде чудное место. Были ли Вы в S-ta Maria di Carignano, c колокольни которой открывается дивный вид на всю Геную? Очень живописно."
"I quite forgot to tell you, I spent a day in Genoa. In its way it is a fine place. Do you know Santa Maria di Carignano, from the tower of which one gets such a wonderful view over the whole town? Extraordinarily picturesque!"
"Une des plus belles choses qu'on puisse voir au monde: Gênes, de la haute mer.Au fond du golfe, la ville se soulève comme si elle sortait des flots, au pied de la montagne. Le long des deux côtes qui s’arrondissent autour d’elle pour l’enfermer, la protéger et la caresser, dirait-on, quinze petites cités, des voisines, des vassales, des servantes, reflètent et baignent dans l’eau leurs maisons claires. ..."
"One of the most beautiful things that can be seen in this world is Genoa viewed from the sea.At the head of the bay the city rises as if from out of the water. On both sides, which make a curve around Genoa, as if to protect and caress it, fifteen small towns, neighbors, vassals, servants, reflect and bathe their light-colored houses in the waters. To the left are Cogoleto, Arenzano, Voltri, Pra, Pegli, Sestri-Ponente, and San Pier d’Arena; to the right, Sturla, Quarto, Quinto, Nervi, Bogliasco, Sori, Recco, Camogli, the last white spot on the cape of Porto-Fino, which closes the gulf on the southeast."
"Hautes maisons (jusqu'à treize étages), ruelles des plus étroites dans la vieille ville. Fraîches et malodorantes. Le soir, occupées par une foule compacte. De jour, davantage par la jeunesse. Langes flottant dans l'air comme autant de drapeaux dans une ville pavoisée. Cordes tendues entre les fenêtres qui se font face. De jour, soleil ardent sur ces ruelles, reflets métalliques de la mer là en bas, afflux de lumière de toute part; éblouissements. À quoi s'ajoutent les résonances d'un orgue de Barbarie, pittoresque métier. Tout autour, ronde d'enfants. Le théâtre dans la réalité. Emporté avec moi assez de mélancolie par-delà le Saint-Gothard. L'influence de Dionysos sur moi n'est pas si simple."
"High houses (up to thirteen floors), extremely narrow alleys in the old town. Cool and smelly. In the evening, thickly filled with people. In daytime, more with youngsters, Their swaddling clothes wave in the air like flags over a celebrating town. Strings hang from window to window across the street. By day, stinging sun in these alleys, the sparkling, metallic reflections of the sea; below, a flood of light from all sides: dazzling brilliance. Add to all this the sound of a hurdy-gurdy, a picturesque trade. Children dancing all around. Theater turned real. I have taken a certain amount of melancholy along with me over the Gotthard Pass. Dionysos doesn’t have a simple effect on me."
"Tra l'azzurro ed il bianco, sul fondo dei colli di un verde opaco, Genova è misteriosa al modo di Londra, l'altra città europea fatta a compartimenti stagni."
"Between the blue and the white, against the backdrop of the opaque green hills, Genoa is mysterious in the way of London, the other European city made up of water-tight compartments."
"We loved that hall, tho’ white and cold, Those nichèd shapes of noble mould, A princely people’s awful princes, The grave, severe Genovese of old."
"At length the day departed, and the moon Rose like another sun, illumining Waters and woods and cloud-capt promontories, Glades for a hermit’s cell, a lady’s bower, Scenes of Elysium, such as Night alone Reveals below, nor often,—scenes that fled As at the waving of a wizard’s wand, And left behind them, as their parting gift, A thousand nameless odours. All was still; And now the nightingale her song poured forth In such a torrent of heartfelt delight, So fast it flowed, her tongue so voluble, As if she thought her hearers would be gone Ere half was told. ’Twas where in the northwest, Still unassailed and unassailable, Thy pharos, Genoa, first displayed itself, Burning in stillness on its craggy seat; That guiding star so oft the only one, When those now glowing in the azure vault Are dark and silent. ’Twas where o’er the sea (For we were now within a cable’s length) Delicious gardens hung; green galleries, And marble terraces in many a flight, And fairy arches flung from cliff to cliff, Wildering, enchanting; and, above them all, A palace, such as somewhere in the East, In Zenastan or Araby the blest, Among its golden groves and fruits of gold, And fountains scattering rainbows in the sky, Rose, when Aladdin rubbed the wondrous lamp; Such, if not fairer; and, when we shot by, A scene of revelry, in long array, As with the radiance of the setting sun, The windows blazing. But we now approached A city far-renowned; and wonder ceased."
"This house was ’s. Here he lived; And here at eve relaxing, when ashore, Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse With them that sought him, walking to and fro As on his deck. ’Tis less in length and breadth Than many a cabin in a ship of war; But ’tis of marble, and at once inspires The reverence due to ancient dignity. He left it for a better; and ’tis now A house of trade, the meanest merchandise Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is, ’Tis still the noblest dwelling, even in Genoa! And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last, Thou hadst done well; for there is that without, That in the wall, which monarchs could not give, Nor thou take with thee, that which says aloud, It was thy country’s gift to her deliverer. ’Tis in the heart of Genoa (he who comes Must come on foot) and in a place of stir; Men on their daily business, early and late, Thronging thy very threshold. But, when there, Thou wert among thy fellow-citizens, Thy children, for they hailed thee as their sire: And on a spot thou must have loved, for there, Calling them round, thou gav’st them more than life, Giving what, lost, makes life not worth the keeping. There thou didst do, indeed, an act divine; Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in, Without a blessing on thee. Thou art now Again among them. Thy brave mariners, They who had fought so often by thy side, Staining the mountain-billows, bore thee back; And thou art sleeping in thy funeral-chamber. Thine was a glorious course; but couldst thou there Clad in thy cere-cloth,—in that silent vault, Where thou art gathered to thy ancestors,— Open thy secret heart and tell us all, Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess, A sigh how heavy, that thy happiest hours Were passed before these sacred walls were left, Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, And pomp and power drew envy, stirring up The ambitious man, that in a perilous hour Fell from the plank."
"Ah! what avails it, Genoa, now to thee That Doria, feared by monarchs, once was thine? Univied ruin! in thy sad decline From virtuous greatness, what avails that he Whose prow descended first the Hesperian sea, And gave our world her mate beyond the brine, Was nurtured, whilst an infant, at thy knee?— All things must perish,—all but things divine. Flowers, and the stars, and virtue,—these alone, The self-subsisting shapes, or self-renewing, Survive. All else are sentenced. Wisest were That builder who should plan with strictest care (Ere yet the wood was felled or hewn the stone) The aspect only of his pile in ruin!"
"How sweet the stars are, trembling in the sky, As I look up across the shadowy trees, Whose branches softly melt in heaven’s seas, And mix with stars as griefs with destinies. How sweet they are that overhead do fly And reel and burn like sweet dreams born divine That high in heaven grow restless if too fine For human uses. Sweet the sleepy air That scarce can hold the moonlight in its arms, For dreaming and for sleeping; sweet the stair Of clouds that winds to God, upheld in palms Of planets poised in the dark atmosphere; Sweet all things here atwixt the seas and skies,— Sights, sounds, and odors of this Paradise!"
"Gently, as roses die, the day declines; On the charmed air there is a hush the while; And delicate are the twilight-tints that smile Upon the summits of the Apennines. The moon is up; and o’er the warm wave shines A faery bridge of light, whose beams beguile The fancy to some far and fortunate isle, Which love in solitude unlonely shrines. The blue night of Italian summer glooms Around us; over the crystalline swell I gaze on Genoa’s spires and palace-domes: City of cities, the superb, farewell! The beautiful, in nature’s bloom, is thine; And Art hath made it deathless and divine!"
"Lucca l'industriosa."
"Lucca the busy."
"From off our bridge, he said: "O Malebranche, Behold one of the elders of Saint ; Plunge him beneath, for I return for othersUnto that town, which is well furnished with them. All there are barrators, except Bonturo; No into Yes for money there is changed."
"This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan."
"The fireflies, pulsing forth their rapid gleams, Are the only light That breaks the night; A stream, that has the voice of many streams, Is the only sound All around: And we have found our way to the rude stone, Where many a twilight we have sat alone, Though in this summer-darkness never yet; We have had happy, happy moments here, We have had thoughts we never can forget, Which will go on with us beyond the bier. The very lineaments of thy dear face I do not see, but yet its influence I feel, even as my outward sense perceives The freshening presence of the chestnut leaves, Whose vaguest forms my eye can only trace, By following where the darkness seems most dense. What light, what sight, what form, can be to us Beautiful as this gloom? We have come down, alive and conscious, Into a blesséd tomb: We have left the world behind us, Her vexations cannot find us, We are too far away; There is something to gainsay In the life of every day; But in this delicious death We let go our mortal breath, Naught to feel and hear and see, But our heart’s felicity; Naught with which to be at war, Naught to fret our shame or pride, Knowing only that we are, Caring not what is beside."
"You are at Lucca baths, you tell me, to stay for the summer; Florence was quite too hot; you can’t move further at present. Will you not come, do you think, before the summer is over?"
"Pavia la dotta."
"Pavia the learned."
"Then there is Amalfi, the most prosperous town in Lombardy, the most noble, the most illustrious on account of its conditions, and most affluent and opulent. The territory of Amalfi borders on that of Naples. This is a fair city, but less important than Amalfi."
"A wealthy and populous city, none richer in silver, gold and garments from innumerable places."
"There would I linger, then go forth again; And he who steers due east, doubling the cape, Discovers, in a crevice of the rock, The fishing-town, Amalfi. Haply there A heaving bark, an anchor on the strand, May tell him what it is; but what it was, Cannot be told so soon. The time has been, When on the quays along the Syrian coast, ’Twas asked and eagerly, at break of dawn, “What ships are from Amalfi?” when her coins, Silver and gold, circled from clime to clime; From Alexandria southward to Sennaar, And eastward, through Damascus and Cabul And Samarcand, to thy great wall, Cathay. Then were the nations by her wisdom swayed; And every crime on every sea was judged According to her judgments. In her port Prows, strange, uncouth, from Nile and Niger met, People of various feature, various speech; And in their countries many a house of prayer, And many a shelter, where no shelter was, And many a well, like Jacob’s in the wild, Rose at her bidding. Then in Palestine, By the wayside, in sober grandeur stood A hospital, that, night and day, received The pilgrims of the west; and, when ’twas asked, “Who are the noble founders?” every tongue At once replied, “The merchants of Amalfi.” That hospital, when Godfrey scaled the walls, Sent forth its holy men in complete steel; And hence, the cowl relinquished for the helm, That chosen band, valiant, invincible, So long renowned as champions of the Cross, In Rhodes, in Malta. For three hundred years There, unapproached but from the deep, they dwelt; Assailed forever, yet from age to age Acknowledging no master. From the deep They gathered in their harvests; bringing home, In the same ship, relics of ancient Greece, That land of glory where their fathers lay, Grain from the golden vales of Sicily, And Indian spices. Through the civilized world Their credit was ennobled into fame; And when at length they fell, they left mankind A legacy, compared with which the wealth Of Eastern kings, what is it in the scale?— The mariner’s compass."
"It is the mid-May sun that, rayless and peacefully gleaming, Out of its night’s short prison this blessed of lands is redeeming; It is the fire evoked from the hearts of the citron and orange, So that they hang, like lamps of the day, translucently beaming; It is the veinless water, and air unsoiled by a vapor, Save what, out of the fulness of life, from the valley is steaming; It is the olive that smiles, even he, the sad growth of the moonlight, Over the flowers, whose breasts triple-folded with odors are teeming;— Yes, it is these bright births that to me are a shame and an anguish; They are alive and awake,—I dream, and know I am dreaming; I cannot bathe my soul in this ocean of passion and beauty,— Not one dewdrop is on me of all that about me is streaming; O, I am thirsty for life,—I pant for the freshness of nature, Bound in the world’s dead sleep, dried up by its treacherous seeming."
"Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet, Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat, Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas.In the middle of the town, From its fountains in the hills, Tumbling through the narrow gorge, The Canneto rushes down, Turns the great wheels of the mills, Lifts the hammers of the forge. ’Tis a stairway, not a street, That ascends the deep ravine, Where the torrent leaps between Rocky walls that almost meet. Toiling up from stair to stair Peasant girls their burdens bear; Sunburnt daughters of the soil, Stately figures tall and straight, What inexorable fate Dooms them to this life of toil?Lord of vineyards and of lands, Far above the convent stands. On its terraced walk aloof Leans a monk with folded hands, Placid, satisfied, serene, Looking down upon the scene Over wall and red-tiled roof; Wondering unto what good end All this toil and traffic tend, And why all men cannot be Free from care and free from pain, And the sordid love of gain, And as indolent as he.Where are now the freighted barks From the marts of east and west; Where the knights in iron sarks Journeying to the Holy Land, Glove of steel upon the hand, Cross of crimson on the breast? Where the pomp of camp and court? Where the pilgrims with their prayers? Where the merchants with their wares, And their gallant brigantines Sailing safely into port Chased by corsair Algerines?Vanished like a fleet of cloud, Like a passing trumpet-blast, Are those splendors of the past, And the commerce and the crowd! Fathoms deep beneath the seas Lie the ancient wharves and quays, Swallowed by the engulfing waves; Silent streets and vacant halls, Ruined roofs and towers and walls; Hidden from all mortal eyes Deep the sunken city lies: Even cities have their graves!This is an enchanted land! Round the headlands far away Sweeps the blue Salernian bay With its sickle of white sand: Further still and furthermost On the dim discovered coast Pæstum with its ruins lies, And its roses all in bloom Seem to tinge the fatal skies Of that lonely land of doom.On his terrace, high in air, Nothing doth the good monk care For such worldly themes as these. From the garden just below Little puffs of perfume blow, And a sound is in his ears Of the murmur of the bees In the shining chestnut-trees; Nothing else he heeds or hears. All the landscape seems to swoon In the happy afternoon; Slowly o’er his senses creep The encroaching waves of sleep, And he sinks, as sank the town, Unresisting, fathoms down, Into caverns cool and deep!Walled about with drifts of snow, Hearing the fierce north-wind blow, Seeing all the landscape white, And the river cased in ice, Comes this memory of delight, Comes this vision unto me Of a long-lost Paradise, In the land beyond the sea."
"First of old of Oscan towns! Prize of triumphs, pearl of crowns; Half a thousand years have fled, Since arose thy royal head, Splendour of the Lucumoes.Tuscan fortress, doomed to feel Sharpest edge of Samnite steel, Flashing down the Liris tide; Re-arisen, in richer pride, Cynosure of Italy!Let the Gaurian echoes say How, with Rome, we ruled the fray; Till the fatal field was won By the chief who slew his son, ’Neath the vines of Vesulus.Siren city, where the plain Glitters twice with golden grain, Twice the bowers of roses blow, Twice the grapes and olives flow, Thou wilt chain the conqueror;Home of war-subduing eyes, Shining under softest skies, Gleaming to the silver sea, Liber, Venus, strive for thee, Empress of Ausonia!Glorious in thy martial bloom, Glorious still in storm and gloom, We thy chiefs who dare to die Raise again thy battle-cry,— Charge with Capuan chivalry!"
"And next Tarentum’s bay, Named, if report be true, from Hercules, Is seen; and opposite lifts up her head The goddess of Lacinia; and the heights Appear of Caulon, and the dangerous rocks Of Sylaceum. Then far off we see Trinacrian Ætna rising from the waves; And now we hear the ocean’s awful roar, The breakers dashing on the rocks, the moan Of broken voices on the shore. The deeps Leap up, and sand is mixed with boiling foam. “Charybdis!” cries Anchises; “lo, the cliffs, The dreadful rocks that Helenus foretold! Save us,—bear off, my men! With equal stroke Bend on your oars!” No sooner said than done. With groaning rudder Palinurus turns The prow to the left, and the whole cohort strain With oar and sail, and seek a southern course. The curving wave one moment lifts us up Skyward, then sinks us down as in the shades Of death. Three times amid their hollow caves The cliffs resound; three times we saw the foam Dashed,—that the stars hung dripping wet with dew. Meanwhile, abandoned by the wind and sun, Weary, and ignorant of our course, we are thrown Upon the Cyclops’ shore."
"Tarentum calls On you her wooers, no unworthy bride; Chief harbour, richest mart of Italy. Whither Philanthus, in Laconia's prime, Brought the first Spartan exiles: whither sailed Arion with his music o'er the main. The port of Epirote and Grecian kings; The haunt of old Pythagorean lore. The same soft breezes blow around her towers, The same soil teems about her terraces,— Flowing with wines of Aulon, fruits and oil,— The same wool thickens on her hundred hills, As fleet the coursers on her emerald meads, Her seas are purple with as deep a dye, As when, in earlier days of far renown, Queen of the southern shores she held the ships Of Rome beyond Lacinia, or displayed The phalanx of white shields at Asculum. Nor is the spirit of our warriors dead, Beneath their bonds; the City, with her capes Stretching like arms to Carthage, calls on you To set her free."
"Yes! pleased, on our land, from his azure way, The Sun ever smiles with unclouded ray. But never, fair isle, shall thy sons repose 'Mid the sweets which the faithless waves enclose. On their bosom they wafted the corsair bold, With his dreaded barks to our coast of old. For thee was thy dower of beauty vain, 'Twas the treasure that lured the spoiler's train. Oh, ne'er from these smiling vales shall rise A sword for our vanquished liberties; 'Tis not where the laughing Ceres reigns, And the jocund lord of the flowery plains:— Where the iron lies hid in the mountain cave, Spring the men of empire, the free and brave."
"O Milan, O the chanting quires, The giant windows’ blazon’d fires, The height, the space, the gloom, the glory! A mount of marble, a hundred spires!"