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Journal of Belles Lettres, Arts, Politics, etc.

No. 71.

BARON GERNING'S TRAVELS IN
AUSTRIA AND ITALY.

SATURDAY, MAY 30, 1818.

name of this village was Oppidum Subla-
queum, or Sublacium, near which was the
Lacus Simbrivios, which still appears as a
small lake. At a short distance is seen the
lofty Algidus, with its grove consecrated to
Diana, which has been celebrated by Sta-
tius, L. 4. Carm. IV.

PRICE 1s.

which is only from one to two feet deep,
with the fertile earth. This discovery was
made about 30 years ago, in the month of
February, when trees were planting, and
several leaden water-pipes were
at the
same time found.*

Towards the left there is a semi-arched wall without any reticular stones, which may have been the site of Horace's Bath. Be

side it flows a little stream, of which the Poet occasionally speaks, and which murFonte-ratine, and gushes out at once from mured through his farm. It is now called the midst of the Lucretilis, near a piece of of a rock, where once stood the Grotto of the mason-work, surrounded by shrubs in front Goats, of which Horace also sung. Here are still to be seen the little goats, Olentis mariti, browsing on the thyme, and having, according to the Poet's description, no fear of the green serpents.

HAVING in our last Number promised a few extracts from Baron Gerning's Travels, we select, as peculiarly interesting, his Observations on the Villa of Horace, and on the late celebrated Hos Præneste sacrum, nemus hos glaciale Dianæ, Queen of Naples. With the latter person- Algidus aut horrens, aut Tuscula protegit umbra. age, whose character, though far from Tiburis hi lucos Anienaque frigora captant. unexceptionable, was doubtless grossly This wood is now called Selva dell'Aglio. calumniated, and is still, upon the From Vicovaro, which is most romanwhole, but little known, the Baron tically situated, to the ancient Varia, the had the honour to be well acquainted; road gently winds alternately to the left, so that his testimony, making allow-over barren rocks and blooming heights; ance for some partiality, will be reto the right, by the side of the pastoral garded as possessing considerable flowing Anio, shaded by rows of pointed weight. As to his description of the cypresses and poplars; it then turns off to the left, towards a little rivulet, ascending Villa of Horace, it is obviously that of by small stony paths, over steep rocky emia kindred spirit, and will, we trust, not nences, where the aspect of nature is somebe uninteresting to those who are con- times severe and sombre, sometimes gentle vinced with us, that Horace is in every and smiling. On every side, the yellow blos-Horace's celebrated Blandusia bubbles forth At the distance of about half a league, respect the first of Roman poets. som of the Spanish broom, which grows in from one of the cliffs of the Lucretilis. It profusion on the Roman and Florentine is now called Fonte-bella, and it is smaller hills, the fruit of the fig-tree, and the than the Fonte-ratine. A wall, some elegiac bloom of the elder, wave among the sweet- ruins of which still remain, doubtless surest and most fragrant flowers of Spring; rounded it. Here he composed the beauThe castles of Monte Lupo, Mandela, and Rocca-Giovane, appear in succession along the road. Here stood the Vacuna, or Temple of Victory, which, according to the inscription, was rebuilt by Vespasian. Between the valley of Licenza and Vicovara, six gurgling streamlets descend and fall into the Anio, in its course from Subiaco.

HORACE'S VILLA.

In the valley of Ustica, embosomed by the Sabine Hills, 15 miglia, or about 6 leagues from Tibur, nearly as far from that city as it was from Rome, and five miglia from the Anio, towards the left stood the favourite Villa of Horace. Carriages cannot reach this spot. It can only be approached on foot or on horseback. The road passes along the ancient via rabria, now called the Strada delli Reali. On the left, at the foot of the Catillus, are some sepulchral remains, an ancient reservoir, and the ruins of the villa of T. Martius. On the right, near the Anio, which intersects the valley, a few remains of the villas of Valerius Maximus, Sephaces, and Torpilius, are still to be seen; farther on, the aqueduct of Claudius appears between the old and new bed of the Anio; next are descried the heights of Saracenaro and Castel-Madama. Near the convent of St. Cosimato is a fragment of the bridge. The natural shrewdness, benevolence, cordiality, and frankness, of the ancient inhabitants, may still be retraced in the present Sabines. One of the hospitable inhabitants of St. Cosimato, who lately fed and lodged some wandering artists, felt offended when they offered her a recompense.

In this range of valleys, still further on the other side of the Anio, lies the little village of Subiaco, celebrated as the residence of St. Benedict, who there founded his Order. Pius VI., whilst he was Cardinal Braschi, assigned this place to the Abbey. When he became Pope, he built a beautiful church there, which was consecrated in 1789, for which a marble arch was erected to his honour. The ancient VOL. II.

Two pyramidical cypresses now grow beside this clear fountain.

tiful little ode

O Fons Blandusiæ splendidior vitro,†

Fountain, whose waters far surpass
The shining face of polished glass,
To thee the goblet, crowned with flowers,
Grateful the rich libation pours;

A goat whose horns begin to spread,
And, bending, arm his swelling head.
And the Poet himself foretold its re-

nown:

Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium,

Soon shalt thou flow a noble spring,
While in immortal verse I sing
The oak, that spreads thy rocks around,
From whence thy babbling waters bound.

A steep and rocky path leads to the mountain-valley of Horace. After laborious ascents and descents, the murmuring brook Digentia appears flowing from the Blandusian fountain. With rapture the traveller suddenly finds himself amidst chesnut-trees and vineyards in the beautiful hill-encircled valley of Ustica, and beholds its chief ornament, the three-pointed mountain Lucretilis, now Monte St. Gennaro. In advancing to the place which was once the abode of Horace, in order to refresh and communicate with the humble proprietor or occupier of the Villa, it is necessary first to climb to the ancient Digentia, now Licenza, The environs of the house produce annually a miserable desert and loamy spot belonging about seven barilli of wine, a sixth part of which to the Borghese family, which is surmounted goes to the Church. The place is visited by by an old castle, formed to be the refuge very few travellers, and they are for the most of marauders, and far from exciting agree-part silent respecting it. Among the works able sensations.

At the foot of the lofty Lucretilis, the eye is at length saluted by the Mosaic pavement, from which the earth has been removed. It consists chiefly of small blue and white stones and here the house of Horace most probably stood. The present good-natured Villicus digs up a piece of the material, which he gives to the traveller for a mere salve, and then fills up the hole,

The Fonte-Bella, which is with its environs included in the orchard of, Count Orsini, forms a beautiful cascade, giving picturesque animation to these heights; it

which treat of the discovery of this villa are:Capmartin de Chaupi.-Decouverte de la Maison de Campagne d'Horace. Tomes iii. Rome, 1767.

Villa di Orazio Flacco. Roma 1761.

Dominici de Sanctis.-Dissertazione sopra la

A. Mitscherlich Horat. T.1. p. CLXXX. + In lieu of Baron Gerning's elegant German translations of the passages referred to, we subjoin, for the benefit of our readers in general, the translation by Francis.

Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum,

flows through the grounds which belonged | Horace sung to a restless and wealthy | for us to compress our Review within to Horace, where it joins the Fonte-ratine, friend: and after Howing about a league and a half, these united waters are lost in the Anio. This fountain marks the commencement of the extensive Sabina forest, where Horace was once attacked by a wolf while he was singing of his Lalage:

Namque me sylva lupus in Sabinâ,

For musing on my lovely maid,
While careless in the woods I stray'd,
A wolf-how dreadful! cross'd my way,
Yet fled he fled from his defenceless prey.

The surrounding hills and vallies are covered with vines, and fruit and chesnut trees; fountains spring from the hills, and, uniting together, form bubbling brooks.

This was the limit of Horace's moderate wish:

Hoc erat in votis: modus agri non ita magnus;

I often wish'd I had a farm,

A decent dwelling snug and warm,
A garden, and a spring as pure
As crystal running by my door,
Besides a little ancient grove,
Where at my leisure I might rove.

The gracious gods, to crown my bliss,
Have granted this, and more than this;
I have enough in my possessing;
Tis well: I ask no greater blessing,
O Hermes! than, remote from strife,
To have and hold them for my life.
If I was never known to raise
My fortune by dishonest ways,
Nor, like the spendthrifts of the times,
Shall ever sink it by my crimes :

Whenever therefore I retreat

From Rome into my Sabine seat,
By mountains fenc'd on either side,
And in my castle fortified,

What can I write with greater pleasure,
Than satires in familiar measure?
Nor mad ambition there destroys-

To this cool and retired valley Horace usually repaired in the warm months of summer, and remained there until the autumn, as his invitation to his mistress, whom he poetically calls Tyndaris, denotes: Velox amænum sæpe Lucretilém.

Pan from Arcadia's hills descends
To visit oft my Sabine seat,
And here my tender goats defends

From rainy winds, and summer's fiery heat;

For when the vales, wide spreading round,
The sloping hills, and polished rocks,
With his harmonious pipe resound,
In fearless safety graze my wandering flocks;

In safety through the woody brake,

The latent shrubs and thyme explore, Nor longer dread the speckled snake,

And tremble at the martial wolf no more.

Their poet to the gods is dear,

They love his piety and muse, And all our rural honours here

Happy the man whose frugal board
His father's plenty can afford:
His gentle sleep nor anxious fear
Shall drive away, nor sordid care.

The Spirit that, serenely gay,
Careless enjoys the present day,
Can with an easy cheerful smile
The bitterness of life beguile;
Nor fears the approaching hour of fate,
Nor hopes for human bliss complete.
There he sung his "Beatus ille "-

Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,

Like the first mortals blest is he,

From debts, and usury, and business free, With his own teams who ploughs the soil,

Which grateful once confess'd his father's toil. When Horace was in tumultuous Rome, and sighed to be at Sabinum, he probably

exclaimed,

O rus quando ego te aspiciam? quando licebit,

'When shall I see my sweet retreat? Oh! when with books of sages deep, Sequester'd ease, and gentle sleep, In sweet oblivion, blissful balm! The busy cares of life becalm ? This demesne could not have been inconsiderable, for before it came into the possession of Horace, five families lived upon it and cultivated it. Inspired by gratitude, Horace has celebrated the peacemaker Augustus, who terminated the civil war, to whom, along with Maecenas, he was indebted for this estate and a tranquil life devoted to the Muses, and has thereby proved, that with republican principles it is possible to do homage to monarchical

merit.

account of the late Queen of Naples to our [We find we are compelled to defer the next Number.]

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The important share which Lucien Buonaparte had in the French revolution, and in the fortunes of his family; the eventful nature of his own life, and the circumstances of the times; render his biography not only peculiarly entertaining, but very eminently interesting. Without entering into any controversy as to the authenticity of the narrative now before us, we shall content ourselves with giving a faithful abstract of its leading features, and

Their flow'ry wealth around thee shall diffuse. shall be much disappointed if our read

Here shall you tune Anacreon's lyre,
Beneath a shady mountain's brow,

To sing frail Circe's guilty fire,

And chaste Penelope's unbroken vow.
Here in the bosom of rural tranquillity,

less space than can be allotted in three Numbers of our publication, and we therefore proceed to it at once, only remarking, that the reappearance of Lucien on the political scene near the close of the drama, has afforded us the most pleasure in reading, and will, we hope, be equally acceptable to the public. The avant-propos does not give a very satisfactory account of the means by which these revelations ' of the life of Lucien Buonaparte were acquired.

That the work is not his own, is evident from the condemnation which it bestows upon many parts of his character; that no other person could be continually accessary to his private life for twenty-four years, is also pretty evident. The only way to resolve the mystery, then, is to suppose that

the facts have been obtained from the portfolio of Lucien, which we are told (page vii) has not been always respected, and cooked up for publication by one of those literary persons who like nothing better than to dabble in secrets.

There has been a family of the name of Bonaparte at St. Miniato in Tuscany for more than four centuries, of gentle blood, and distinguished in the annals of arms and literature. It does

not appear that the Buonapartes of Corsica have made out their alliance with this race; but when Napoleon in his Italian campaign discovered it, he suppressed the u in his patronymic, and claimed a descent from the Tuscan napartes were among the notables of the House. But in Corsica itself the Buoisland, and the family was fruitful of mayors or podestas, registers, and baillifs. Charles Buonaparte, the father, died a few years previous to the Revolution, at the age of about thirty-six, leaving three daughters, Marianna (called afterwards Eliza,) Carlotta (afterwards Pauline,) and Annunziada (afterwards Caroline;) and five sons, Joseph, Napoleon, Lucien, Louis, and Jerome.

On the breaking out of the Revolution the young men embraced its cause with ardour, and were obliged to seek refuge in France-they settled at Marseilles.

While Napoleon got introduced to Barras, which laid the foundation of his extraordinary fortunes, Lucien obers do not find therein a good deal of tained some employment in the Comnew and curious matter. We shall ab-missariat of the army of the Alps. stain from the many reflections which Having denounced the commissary of the subject suggests; for even without Saint Maximin, as an Aristocrat, he these additions it will be impossible slid into his office, and, devoted to wo

men and the Revolution, he passed his
time in haranguing the popular Socie-
ties, and writing sentimental songs and
love verses.
His amorous disposition,
and his patriotic principles, led him to
his marriage in rather a singular way:

|

against him were unavailing, at a period when his brother had achieved the victory of Lodi. Soon after this commenced the higher political career of Lucien, whose ambition was fired by the success of Napoleon. In 1798, he His employment of store-keeper ha! was elected to the council of five hunplaced Lucien on terms of intimacy with dred, by the department of Liamone. the family of M. Boyer, who was respecta- and took the oaths, though under the ble, though not rich. He was not however age (25) prescribed by law. His first without some patrimony, and also kept a species of hotel. M. Boyer was the father appearance in the tribune was in July ter, named Christine, had an interesting tinguished member of that body. He of two children; a boy and a girl; the lat-1798, and from thence he became a disfigure, and possessed a very amiable dispo- connected himself with the Abbe Sieyes sition, although timid and reserved. Lu- and his party, and was one of the Comcien, familiarly admitted into the house, mittee of Eleven, which superseded the became shortly after enainoured of this original Directory. Engaged in all the girl, and soon contrived to create a reci- intrigues and struggles for power of procal feeling on the part of Christine. This attachment, which increased daily, for the elevation of his brother to suthe era, Lucien at length paved the way preme authority, and, Napoleon returning from Egypt, the celebrated 18th Brumaire consummated the triumph of the Antijacobins, or rather of those who were tired of democracy, as neither lifting them to rule, nor maintaining them securely there when the summit was reached. Lucien had by this time abandoned Sieyes, and canvassed a party in favour of his brother; and while some looked to the restoration of the Bourbons, others to a sort of republic with the Duke of Brunswick, as Chief Magistrate, he carried on the successful enterprise which elevated his own family to sovereign sway. At the house of Madame Recamier, the conspirators had their rendezvous, and every thing was prepared for that Revolution in which Lucien shone so conspicuously, which overthrew the executive Directory, and placed France under the control of Sieyes, Napoleon, and Roger Duclos, as provisional Consuls. The chief actor in this stormy scene was made Minister of the Interior. In

could not fail to make some noise in a
small provincial village. One day, when
Lucien had just concluded an oration in fa-
vour of equality, made at the assemblage of
the people, he was thus accosted in the
language of the day by the honest Boyer,
who never omitted going to admire his
fine speeches:
"You have amply proved
your equality; and therefore as we are all
equal, why don't you marry my daughter?
You pay court to her, by which her
reputation suffers; so that if you are an ho-
nest man, you ought not to hesitate." This
address, which was made before a great
number of patriots, electrified Lucien; but
it was absolutely necessary to sustain his re-
putation, by practising what he preached;
he therefore took Boyer by the hand, and
giving it a hearty squeeze, exclaimed,
Very well, be it so; I'll marry your
daughter."

During the reign of terror, Lucien is described as having acquired so much influence, as to have been the Little Robespierre' of Saint Maximin. Driven from this hold by a change of faction, he rejoined his brothers in Paris, without protection or resources. The 13th Vendemaire, and the massacres at

Paris, by a new reaction, threw the this capacity, the author gives the fol-
Buonapartes again into business; Na-lowing sketch of him :-
poleon was spoken of as a favourite
general of the Conventionalists, and
Lucien was appointed, provisionally, a
Commissary of War in the South. He
returned to St. Maximin, and, now
about the age of 21, married Mademoi-
selle Boyer in spite of the opposition
of his aspiring relations, and devoted
himself to her education, in order that
she might appear with credit in her
more exalted sphere. In 1795-6, Lu-
cien continued to exercise his functions
in the South; thence he went to Bel-
gium, where he quarrelled with the
Ordonnateur' of the division to which
he was attached, but whose complaints

If it is true that Lucien's short administration deserves to be criticised, we ought at least to agree that it gave a considerable degree of celebrity to the ministry of the interior. By the adoption of a high tore, great circumspection, and certain studied that profound knowledge so necessary to a mysteries of office, Lucien made up for Minister of State, which he had not time to acquire by long practice-these qualities, which every politician can assume, tended to create opinions highly favourable to his capacity and genius. Without sacrifice of personal dignity, he also knew how to assume the most amiable suavity of manners towards people of every class; there was, however, a degree of affectation betrayed on such occasions, which proved

any

that the alliance of qualities generally opposite was not altogether natural. As long as he had any important functions to perform, the milder virtues, which emanate from real greatness of soul, were never seen, for his rank absorbed every other consideration on such occasions. But Lucien had one quality entirely peculiar to himself, which was particularly serviceable to his official situation; this was his extreme

fondness for public processions and other pompous ceremonies, acquired by his study of the nations of antiquity, and their gosomewhat of the Italian, that is to say, of vernments. His imgination, which partook energy and animation, gave him a turn for all that was solemn and theatrical. Lucien was also of opinion, that public ceremonies produce an amazing effect on the people, and tend considerably to facilitate the action of political government.

The character of his oratory is also worth translating :

:

Lucien has naturally a marked countenance, and expressive physiognomy; his eyes are lively and penetrating; to which he unites a good figure: notwitstanding all these advantages, he could not, during his legislative and ministerial career, acquire that nobleness of mien, and dignity of address, so useful and even necessary to statesmen of eminence. On the contrary, all his assurance was required to hide a certain awkward air of scholastic pedantry, which he seemed still to retain. But time, the habit of frequenting the society of the great, and superiority of that rank which he held for many years, had latterly enabled him nearly to surmount these defects altogether. It may also be added, that Lucien had very little mastery over the imitative parts of oratory. His voice was by no means favourable to public speaking, being without much strength, rather hoarse, and inclined

to a nasal twang. All these defects, which self-love doubtless hid from himself, were, however, compensated by a correct pronunciation, just delivery, fire and sentiment, there being occasional moments in which he elicited some sparks of real eloquence. In general, very few people possess such agreeable talents for conversation as Lucien he speaks with ease and facility on almost every subject; the flexibility of his mind immediately suggests the language he should adopt, and every one is addressed according to the profession he exercises, or the rank he occupies. But it was as a minister of state that he always wished to shine.

The transition of the First Consul, apparently the head of a Republic, to the Despotic monarch, was (says our author) not only not opposed by Lucien, but mainly indebted to his cooperation for success. His purpose was to share the supreme power with Napoleon,—he the Consul governing France, and his brother the Consul commanding the armies, and directing the foreign rela

XVI.

tions. But the army gave the advan- | but the stability of his power. This gave I go to meet the wizard city's eye, tage to the equally ambitious military rise to a prospect on the part of Lucien, That puts on splendour but to dim the soul. A thousand years of crime beneath me lie! chief; and Lucien, defeated in his ob- who conceived the idea of replacing the sterile wife, by a young and beautiful in-One glance !—I stand as on a mighty mole, ject, came to an open rupture with his fanta of Spain-one of the august House Around whose base not waves, but evil ages roll. fraternal rival. Their altercations were of Bourbon, as by this alliance he hoped to frequent and angry; and it is even give the new dynasty a better title to the said that Napoleon once called in his throne, or at least to connect it with that guard to turn out "that Citizen, who which France had no further any expectafailed in respect to the Chief Consul." tion of recovering. The dissolute life of Lucien gave his opponents the ascendancy, and the family faction of the Beauharnois, aided by Fouche, prevailed against him. pamphlet, attributed to him, entitled Parallel between Cromwell, Monk, and Buonaparte,' and tending to restore the exiled Bourbons, completed the disunion, and the two brothers separated

A

in so violent a manner as to render their reconciliation almost impossible. Lucien, as a decent banishment, was appointed ambassador to Spain, where Charles the IVth received him most magnificently as the near relation of the greatest man in all the world, whom, as His Majesty told a groom, sent with a present of horses to Paris, he would willingly give one of his fingers to see : -he saw him at last, and lost more than a finger! - - Lucien (says his biographer) Soon acquired the most unlimited confidence of their Catholic Majesties; but his principal efforts were made to gain the favour of a great princess, and in this he succeeded; at least, it is certain that in one of his confidential dispatches, the minister boasted of the pains he had taken to insinuate himself into the good graces of such an august personage: he declared, however, that it would be difficult for him to persevere in his assiduities. On returning from his embassy, Lucien did not fail to shew the public how vain he was of his success in so high a quarter, and determined that it should be known, by letting part of a gold chain worn round his neck be seen, at the end of which hung a superb medallion encircled with brilliants, and containing the portrait, a flattering one, no doubt, of the great princess, though an old lady, of whom he had made a conquest.

The extraordinary attention and kindnesses evinced towards Lucien, while at the Spanish capital, served to increase his fortune, while it contributed to the success of those schemes which he had in contemplation for the further aggrandisement of his family. He had in fact so completely gained the confidence of the royal couple, and penetrated their secrets, that Lucien was not afraid of outstripping time, by doing that for the first consul in 1801, which the Emperor Napoleon dare not effect till he had subjugated nearly all Europe in 1810. Although there was no longer any hopes of Josephine becoming a mother, yet an heir was necessary to Buonaparte, not only as it affected the permanency of his elevation,

And ye enduring monuments, that rise
In your calm grandeur round this fortress-hill,
Masses of solemn shade and orient dyes!
Are ye not each, as in that sea an isle
Sheltering the few and statelier memories, while
The feeble pass like foam upon the wave?
I gaze not here on Greek or Gothic pile!—
I see but emblems of the days that gave
An impulse to the world, to empires throne or

grave.

XVII.

PARIS IN 1815. Murray. The author of this fine poem being now avowed, we can scarcely do better than recal a few passages, which were not noticed in our original critique. The sensation excited by Mr. Croly's poem on the death of the Princess Charlotte, and the high rank to which it has raised him among British bards, will suffer no diminution from the And woman, who had wept her loveliest dower, following extract, which represents There hid her broken heart in calm and shade, the principal objects seen from Mont-And turned her to His fold, who sought the Martre, as connected with the revolu- lamb that strayed!

tion.

'Twas a dark time, which on Valerien's brow Rear'd the sad refuge of that convent tower! There mind was buried, wither'd beauty's glow, Yet good was mixed with ill; its midnight hour There passion lost its hope, but not its power; Heard prayers from haughty lips that then first prayed!

XVIII.

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All looks a stranger's land—the tawny meads,
Track'd by the sleepy Seine's meanders blue;'
The vintage ripening on its sloping beds,
Like sheets of emeralds, dropping purple dew;
The forest belting with its waste of yew
The chateau, lonely as the exile's tomb
Where rests its lord; the hill's exotic hue;
The foliaged roads, that from the horizon come,
Like arrows, to one point, where still broods
morning's gloom ;-

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Rose up against him, and an arm sublime
Blasted the gloomy Idol of thy age of crime.

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There stand its lonely halls, its Pantheon;
Then were those halls not lonely;-nights and
days
Roll'd o'er their thousands, pouring heaven's
high praise,

From more than pagan lips, to harlotry.
Temple of many gods! while ONE delays,
For wisdom deeply veiled from human eye,
To strike it into dust, till ev'n its memory die.
XxX.

The emblem-circle's wound. The sunbeams glow
Latest, yet loveliest, on St. Denis' wall.
But is there not a brighter sun than now
Vestures in gold that patriarch cathedral ?
Is not Earth's veil at length about to fall,
As the slow shadows from that temple hoar;
And the true Faith unfold her gates to all;
And Man be glorious as he was before;
And Earth be Paradise, till time shall be no more?

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