near Exeter, where he has built ornamental walls and houses in imitation of some of those old Moorish remains which he so loved in Spain.
His article was to appear this June, but I should not be surprised if it went over till October.
On the receipt of your letter I wrote him from Rome, to let him know that a large number of corrections had been made in the recent American edition.
I also wrote Bentley, whom I saw when in London, communicating your wishes.
It is a far cry across the Atlantic Ocean, and not a short one from Rome; but I thought the two together—your Western call and my halloo from the East—would certainly be heard in Burlington Street. In London I met a Spaniard,
II. p. 64. an ex-professor of Madrid, who wrote the review of your history in the Edinburgh.
I have forgotten his name and address.
Hillard, however, has both.
He would be pleased to find himself in some way en rapportwith you. He has addicted himself to Spanish subjects, and coll
by Washington Allston, years ago. The statue is about three or four feet high; but Greenough means to make one as large as the Apollo Belvedere.
He has also done a beautiful little bas-relief for Mr. Salisbury,—the angel telling St. John not to address his prayers to him but to God; and is now engaged on a bas-relief for Miss Gibbs, to be put in a church at Newport; also busts of Franklin, of Marquis Capponi, &c. I have seen a good deal of Powers.
Hiram Powers, 1805-73.
He was born in Vermont; removed to Cincinnati; went to Italy in 1837; exhibited his Eve in 1838; and soon after executed the Greek Slave.
Tuckerman's Book of Artists, pp. 276-294. He is very pleasant and agreeable.
His busts are truly remarkable, close likenesses without coarseness or vulgarity,—without Frazeeism.I asked Greenough if he thought Powers could make a young Augustus.
If he had a young Augustus to sit to him, was the reply.
At present he has not gone beyond bust-making.
He has made two fancy head
What must Rome have been, whose porches and columns and arches excited the wonder of the ancient world, if this little place, of whose disastrous fate only we have heard an account, contained such treasures!
I do not believe there is a single town of the size of the ancient Pompeii in modern Europe where you will find so much public or private magnificence, where you will enter so many private dwellings enriched by the chisel and the pencil, or stand in a public square like her Forum.
Would that Felton could see these things!
How his soul would expand and palpably feel—what he has been groping after in books—the power and beauty of ancient art!
Capo Miseno is on the opposite side of the bay. One day's excursion carried me over the scene of the Cumaean Sibyl (I would fain have sent you home a mistletoe from the thick wood), round the ancient Lake Avernus, even down the dark cave which once opened to the regions of night; by the Lucrine bank, whence came the oysters on
and has already invented a machine to use instead of compasses in transferring measurements from a cast to the marble on which one is working.
This facilitates labor so much, particularly in bas-reliefs, that Greenough told me his men were only twelve days on one piece, when they would have been engaged thirty without Powers's Scorpion.
I hope Crawford will get one.
Marquis Gino Capponi was born in Florence in 1792, and died Feb. 3, 1876.
He was at one time in public life in Tuscany, but was mainly devoted to literature.
A History of the Popes, and a Treatise on Education, are among his works.
He persevered in authorship notwithstanding his blindness.
He was a correspondent of Mr. Prescott, and is frequently mentioned in the Life of the historian. I saw but once, as he has left town to be absent some six weeks. He inquired kindly after you. He said that he hoped to see Prescott's book translated.
When I told him that Prescott used his eyes considerably now, he excl
c. 3, 1839: I agree with you about the season for seeing Italy.
I have been there every month of the year except August, and give me the sunshine even at the expense of the heat. He afterwards referred to these days as the happiest of his whole European journey.
Thence he went, by way of Siena, to Florence, where he passed a fortnight; and then with a vetturino to Bologna, Ferrara, Rovigo, Padua, and across the plains of Lombardy alone, in a light wagon with a single horse, harnessed with rop of ancient glory; the verses of poets; the sayings of wise men, and the dark eyes of women.
Ah! how the live-long day would be shortened to me, and what sunlight would be let into the dark places of my future pilgrimage!
My soul will long for European sympathy,—for some one who has seen the things that I have seen, and who will join with me in reproducing them to our eager imaginations.
And I look forward with hope to renewing our former intercourse under your happy roof.
. . . I thank yo
these days as the happiest of his whole European journey.
Thence he went, by way of Siena, to Florence, where he passed a fortnight; and then with a vetturino to Bologna, Ferrara, Rovigo, Padua, and across the plains of Lombardy alone, in a light wagon with a single horse, harnessed with ropes, old leather, and the like.
I. of the Reports of the Venetian Ambassadors?
They will make twenty volumes when published.
I shall leave Florence Monday next; stay a day or two at Bologna, and five or seven at Venice.
To George S. Hillard. Palazzo Giustiniani, Venice, Sept. 29, 1839.
my dear Hillard,—Among canals, amidst the cries and songs n I last wrote, I was shortly to leave Florence.
I still lingered several days; saw more of Wilde, and admired Greenough more.
Left Florence with a vetturinofor Bologna, where I passed one day; then to Ferrara, Rovigo, Padua, and Venice; losing something at each of these towns,—a silk handkerchief at one, a cambric one at another
abridge the rightful domain of the sea; and on the top of Capo Miseno, in the shade of the vine, with fresh breezes coming from Hesperus and the West; and in the ancient gardens of Lucullus I sat down to such a breakfast as the poor peasants of this fertile land could supply.
Lucullus's servants, I doubt not, fared better than we did; but who, amidst such a scene, could think of the coarse bread and the poor wine?
Then there is the Museum at Naples, where are collected all the spoils of Herculaneum and Pompeii, with other productions that are full of interest and beauty and grace.
Several days are exhausted in examining its treasures.
Here are the frescos that have been taken from the walls of the houses of Pompeii, and the bronzes and the marbles that have been there disentombed.
But you know all this.
Naples is a disagreeable place saving its fine scenery and its classical interests.
Beggary is here incarnate.
You cannot leave the house without being surrounded by half a doz
mountain-sides, overshadowed by the foliage of the fig-tree and the olive, while the orange and the lemon with pleasant perfume scent the air where reigns perpetual spring.
Who can contemplate such a city without delight?—Works, Vol.
I. p. 26. Leghorn, and Pisa, and was kept a day at the unattractive port of Civita Vecchia.
While at Naples, where he remained about twelve days, he visited the well-known points of interest,—the Museum, Lake Avernus, Misenum, Baiae, Capri, Pompeii, and Vesuvius
To George S. Hillard. Naples, May 19, 1839.
Embarked at Marseilles, May 3, in the steamer Pharamond; touched and passed two days at Genoa, wandered among its palaces and groves of oranges, and enjoyed its paintings.
Next stopped at Leghorn long enough to make a most delightful excursion to Pisa, to ascend its leaning tower, and admire its cathedral; then to Civita Vecchia, in which dirty hole we were kept a day, and then to Naples.
How can I describe to you, my dear Hillard, the
he consolation of knowing that I know as much about it now, as I did of Italian when I came to Italy.
I did not understand the Carta di Sicurezza that was given me at the gate of San Giovanni, when I entered Rome, the 21st of May.
At the first town that I come to in Germany I shall stop, take a master, and commence an assault for one week; then move on, studying on the road to Vienna; three weeks in Vienna,—a master all the time; then to Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and probably next down to Heidelberg,—an immense sweep; then down the Rhine into Belgium, to London, where I expect to be at the end of December or beginning of January.
Venice is a sort of jumping-off place.
I am here equally distant from Vienna and Athens.
I can be at either in less than seven days. I have ordered my letters to Vienna, where I expect to find a batch of two months. This is a temptation to the North; but there are the Piraeus and Marathon!
I am strongly tempted.
My next will be to you from Vienna or Ath
ber, after a week's visit, he arrived, Oct. 2, without breaking the journey, at Milan, where his Italian tour ended.
Three days later, he took a seat in the malle-p anxious to talk with you about this historian; A friend of his has in press at Milan a collection of letters from Botta.
He is of our own age, and is amiable and aabmen or hackmen I have had to do with in other places.
To Thomas Crawford. Milan, Oct. 5, 1839.
dear Crawford,—To-morrow I quit Italy with a beating heart.
As ever, very sincerely yours, Charles Sumner.
To George W. Greene. Milan, Oct. 5, 1839.
my dear Greene,—I was thankful for your letter at Venice, ande letter of introduction; paid dear for my lodgings; left in the malle-postefor Milan; rode two nights and a day; read Italian, and talked that and French.
In MilanMilan I have stumbled upon a couple of friends, to whom I wish you to be kind, for various reasons,—inasmuch as they are my friends, and are quiet, pleasant, gentlemanly <