Pictures from Italy
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a little table. The lamp (just such another as they dig out of Pompeii) is lighted, but the place is empty. The figure in the cloak has followed me in, and stands before me. “The master?” “At your service, sir.” “Please to give me a glass of wine of the country.” He turns to a little counter, to get it. As his striking face is pale, and his action is evidently that of an enfeebled man, I remark that I fear he has been ill. It is not much, he courteously and gravely answers, though bad while
there be found, in these pages, any grave examination into the government or misgovernment of any portion of the country. No visitor of that beautiful land can fail to have a strong conviction on the subject; but as I chose when residing there, a Foreigner, to abstain from the discussion of any such questions with any order of Italians, so I would rather not enter on the inquiry now. During my twelve months’ occupation of a house at Genoa, I never found that authorities constitutionally jealous
open screen which receives impressions: by entitling the chapter in which he journeys to Rome to Naples ‘A Rapid Diorama’, he suggests how he then re-presents these impressions as a currently popular form of visual entertainment and education. In his magnificent book Charles Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin comments that it is no accident that ‘a special literary genre . . . panorama literature’ came into vogue – he is writing about France, but the same holds true for England – at the same time as
priest?” The peasant explained because there was neither priest nor church at hand—a very uncommon complaint indeed in Italy. “I should wish, then,” said the Celestial Visitor, “to have a chapel built here, in which the prayers of the Faithful may be offered up.” “But, Santissima Madonna,” said the peasant, “I am a poor man; and chapels cannot be built without money. They must be supported, too, Santissima; for to have a chapel and not support it liberally, is a wickedness—a deadly sin.” This
houses were heaped and piled together; or how there were very narrow streets to shut the howling winds out in the winter-time; and broken bridges, which the impetuous torrents, suddenly released in spring, had swept away. Or how there were peasant women here, with great round fur caps: looking, when they peeped out of casements and only their heads were seen, like a population of Sword-bearers to the Lord Mayor of London; or how the town of Vevay, lying on the smooth lake of Geneva, was beautiful