Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ce this surfaceshould be dimmed by timeand misfortune, it is surelypermitted (at all eventswhen there is no one thereto see!) to shrug onesshoulders and hurry on tosomething else ! An excep-tion is to be made, however,in favour of such things asmust, positively, be beautifulbecause they are so are to be enthusiasti-cally admired and be-praised—of course only in class of travellers findsRome by no means inex-haustible, although extremelyfatiguing; and requires to berefreshed in the evening atthe table dhote of a first-rate hotel, afte
Italy from the Alps to Mount Etna . ce this surfaceshould be dimmed by timeand misfortune, it is surelypermitted (at all eventswhen there is no one thereto see!) to shrug onesshoulders and hurry on tosomething else ! An excep-tion is to be made, however,in favour of such things asmust, positively, be beautifulbecause they are so are to be enthusiasti-cally admired and be-praised—of course only in class of travellers findsRome by no means inex-haustible, although extremelyfatiguing; and requires to berefreshed in the evening atthe table dhote of a first-rate hotel, after the exhaust-ing effort of enjoying art. Table dhote — thatputs a thought into my head. Since our travels have come to be a series of pilgrimages from one hotel to another, wehave ceased to be able to gratify our individual gastronomic preferences. The tabledhote compels us to suit our taste to whatever is brought us, and patiently to swallowdown our allotted portion every day. We do not dine, we are fed, and indigestion lurks. SCALA SANTA. 278 ITALY. menacing in the background. What then ? do you say. Oh, you must understandthat by this allegory I intend to set forth the numerous books on art and art-criticism withwhich our travelling public is crammed until its mental digestion is so injured that it canreally admire nothing ; its natural healthy appetite being destroyed, and moreover everyobject of interest being docketed with someone elses ready-made opinion. I have no desire to add my little ticket to therest; and, indeed, I have already, insaying this much, forfeited my rightof entrance into the paradise of FineArt criticism. And I am glad of should really be unable to say any-thing new about what has alreadybeen so much praised—still less any-thing brilliant. What would it profityou, my good friend, or what would itprofit our respected public—which hascost both of us some sleepless andanxious nights—if I were to beginmaking phrases about the church ofSan P
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