Dickens, Charles – Pictures from Italy

Mantua.

The geese who saved the Capitol, were, as compared to these, Pork

to the learned Pig. What a gallery it was! I would take their

opinion on a question of art, in preference to the discourses of

Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Now that we were standing in the street, after being thus

ignominiouly escorted thither, my little friend was plainly reduced

to the ‘piccolo giro,’ or little circuit of the town, he had

formerly proposed. But my suggestion that we should visit the

Palazzo Te (of which I had heard a great deal, as a strange wild

place) imparted new life to him, and away we went.

The secret of the length of Midas’s ears, would have been more

extensively known, if that servant of his, who whispered it to the

reeds, had lived in Mantua, where there are reeds and rushes enough

to have published it to all the world. The Palazzo Te stands in a

swamp, among this sort of vegetation; and is, indeed, as singular a

place as I ever saw.

Not for its dreariness, though it is very dreary. Not for its

dampness, though it is very damp. Nor for its desolate condition,

though it is as desolate and neglected as house can be. But

chiefly for the unaccountable nightmares with which its interior

has been decorated (among other subjects of more delicate

execution), by Giulio Romano. There is a leering Giant over a

certain chimney-piece, and there are dozens of Giants (Titans

warring with Jove) on the walls of another room, so inconceivably

ugly and grotesque, that it is marvellous how any man can have

imagined such creatures. In the chamber in which they abound,

these monsters, with swollen faces and cracked cheeks, and every

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Dickens, Charles – Pictures From Italy

kind of distortion of look and limb, are depicted as staggering

under the weight of falling buildings, and being overwhelmed in the

ruins; upheaving masses of rock, and burying themselves beneath;

vainly striving to sustain the pillars of heavy roofs that topple

down upon their heads; and, in a word, undergoing and doing every

kind of mad and demoniacal destruction. The figures are immensely

large, and exaggerated to the utmost pitch of uncouthness; the

colouring is harsh and disagreeable; and the whole effect more like

(I should imagine) a violent rush of blood to the head of the

spectator, than any real picture set before him by the hand of an

artist. This apoplectic performance was shown by a sickly-looking

woman, whose appearance was referable, I dare say, to the bad air

of the marshes; but it was difficult to help feeling as if she were

too much haunted by the Giants, and they were frightening her to

death, all alone in that exhausted cistern of a Palace, among the

reeds and rushes, with the mists hovering about outside, and

stalking round and round it continually.

Our walk through Mantua showed us, in almost every street, some

suppressed church: now used for a warehouse, now for nothing at

all: all as crazy and dismantled as they could be, short of

tumbling down bodily. The marshy town was so intensely dull and

flat, that the dirt upon it seemed not to have come there in the

ordinary course, but to have settled and mantled on its surface as

on standing water. And yet there were some business-dealings going

on, and some profits realising; for there were arcades full of

Jews, where those extraordinary people were sitting outside their

shops, contemplating their stores of stuffs, and woollens, and

bright handkerchiefs, and trinkets: and looking, in all respects,

as wary and business-like, as their brethren in Houndsditch,

London.

Having selected a Vetturino from among the neighbouring Christians,

who agreed to carry us to Milan in two days and a half, and to

start, next morning, as soon as the gates were opened, I returned

to the Golden Lion, and dined luxuriously in my own room, in a

narrow passage between two bedsteads: confronted by a smoky fire,

and backed up by a chest of drawers. At six o’clock next morning,

we were jingling in the dark through the wet cold mist that

enshrouded the town; and, before noon, the driver (a native of

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