Let Me Remark, By The Way, That A Work Of Art Is A Sacred Thing In The
Eyes Of Italians Of All Classes, Never To Be Defaced, Never To Be
Touched, A Thing To Be Looked At Merely.
A statue may stand for ages in a
public square, within the reach of any one who passes, and
With no
sentinel to guard it, and yet it shall not only be safe from mutilation,
but the surface of the marble shall never be scratched, or even
irreverently scored with a lead pencil. So general is this reverence for
art, that the most perfect confidence is reposed in it. I remember that in
Paris, as I was looking at a colossal plaster cast of Napoleon at the
Hotel des Invalides, a fellow armed with a musket who stood by it bolt
upright, in the stiff attitude to which the soldier is drilled, gruffly
reminded me that I was too near, though I was not within four feet of it.
In Florence it is taken for granted that you will do no mischief, and
therefore you are not watched.
Letter IV.
A Day in Florence.
Pisa, _December_ 11, 1834.
It is gratifying to be able to communicate a piece of political
intelligence from so quiet a nook of the world as this. Don Miguel arrived
here the other day from Genoa, where you know there was a story that he
and the Duchess of Berri, a hopeful couple, were laying their heads
together.
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