Impressioni italiane. 1844-1845

by Charles Dickens, Claudio Maria Messina (Editor)

Charles Dickens (1812-1870) has produced some of the most memorable writings in the English language, including such well known works as "A Christmas Carol, Sketches by Boz, A Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist, Daivid Copperfield, Great Expectations, and The Pickwick Papers.

Dickens is famous for the characters he created and his descriptions. A man of tremendous energy, he spent hours a day walking the London streets from which his characters and scenes came.

Most of Dickens' work was in magazine serial form. Quiet Vision publishes not only Dickens' well known works but also many of his lesser known but still well crafted works.

Genres: Classics, Travel, Nonfiction, Italy, History, Victorian, Literature

221 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1846

About the author

Charles John Huffam Dickens (1812-1870) was a writer and social critic who created some of the world's best-known fictional characters and is regarded as the greatest novelist of the Victorian era. His works enjoyed unprecedented popularity during his lifetime, and by the twentieth century critics and scholars had recognised him as a literary genius. His novels and short stories enjoy lasting popularity.

Dickens left school to work in a factory when his father was incarcerated in a debtors' prison. Despite his lack of formal education, he edited a weekly journal for 20 years, wrote 15 novels, five novellas, hundreds of short stories and non-fiction articles, lectured and performed extensively, was an indefatigable letter writer, and campaigned vigorously for children's rights, education, and other social reforms.

Dickens was regarded as the literary colossus of his age. His 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, remains popular and continues to inspire adaptations in every artistic genre. Oliver Twist and Great Expectations are also frequently adapted, and, like many of his novels, evoke images of early Victorian London. His 1859 novel, A Tale of Two Cities, set in London and Paris, is his best-known work of historical fiction. Dickens's creative genius has been praised by fellow writers—from Leo Tolstoy to George Orwell and G. K. Chesterton—for its realism, comedy, prose style, unique characterisations, and social criticism. On the other hand, Oscar Wilde, Henry James, and Virginia Woolf complained of a lack of psychological depth, loose writing, and a vein of saccharine sentimentalism. The term Dickensian is used to describe something that is reminiscent of Dickens and his writings, such as poor social conditions or comically repulsive characters.

On 8 June 1870, Dickens suffered another stroke at his home after a full day's work on Edwin Drood. He never regained consciousness, and the next day he died at Gad's Hill Place. Contrary to his wish to be buried at Rochester Cathedral "in an inexpensive, unostentatious, and strictly private manner," he was laid to rest in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. A printed epitaph circulated at the time of the funeral reads: "To the Memory of Charles Dickens (England's most popular author) who died at his residence, Higham, near Rochester, Kent, 9 June 1870, aged 58 years. He was a sympathiser with the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world." His last words were: "On the ground", in response to his sister-in-law Georgina's request that he lie down.

(from Wikipedia)

Reviews

[Bionic Jean · Rating 5 out of 5]

Did you know Charles Dickens wrote travelogues? No? Well you’d be right—he didn’t! At least, not in the sense we mean now.

Pictures from Italy is classed as “Travel Literature”, although “Travel Fiction” might be better. It enables us to see into the mind and personality of Charles Dickens, just as the fictional “David Copperfield” is a version of his autobiography. The preposition “from” rather than “of” in the title is significant. These are impressions jotted down at the time, not sober reflections afterwards—and certainly not pretty portraits for a coffee table book.

Charles Dickens set his novels and stories in places he knew well: Great Britain, America, Italy, Switzerland or France. The factual pieces he wrote about other countries are styled like his fiction. They are personal, quirky and opinionated; and no more so than in Pictures from Italy. In no sense are they travel guides to a country, intended to help tourists. There was a plethora of such worthy guides for Victorians who wished to do “The Grand Tour” of Europe, but Charles Dickens was rather contemptuous of these instructive manuals: those reference guides to buildings and works considered to be of artistic merit, writing:

“If you would know all about the architecture of this church, or any other, its dates, dimensions, endowments, and history, is it not written in Mr Murray’s Guidebook, and may you not read it there, as I did?”

A few years later, when writing “Little Dorrit”, between December 1855 and June 1857, Charles Dickens was to draw on his memories of his Italian travels. He even included a wickedly funny character called “Mrs General”. Full of airs and graces, she was forever quoting from “Mr Eustace”: another writer of these essential manuals for every fashionably cultured person. John Chetwode Eustace was an Anglo-Irish Catholic priest and antiquary, who had travelled through Italy with three pupils in 1802. The journal which he wrote during his travels, “A Classical Tour Through Italy” made him famous, and his subsequent “Classical Tour” of 1813 was an instant success. He became quite a celebrity, and a prominent figure in literary society, producing what was viewed as a sort of bible for the Arts.

However, you can almost see Charles Dickens snubbing his nose at this type of writing. He never accepted another’s opinion of what was essential viewing for every educated, civilised person of good taste, or even which works of Art were worthy. Charles Dickens had no compunction about scoffing at paintings, statues or frescoes others might venerate. His life was a quest to get at the truth in all things; challenging what seemed false for any reason, and revealing what lay beneath the surface. His own observations about a country are not refined and in good taste; they are reactive, and full of violent contrasts.

Pictures from Italy began life in 1844. Charles Dickens’s most famous work “A Christmas Carol” in 1843 had been the wonderful success he had hoped for, and he was hugely popular with the public. But it had not earned him the money he sorely needed, after the poor sales of “Martin Chuzzlewit” so far. His publishers had been chary of producing the lavish volume he wished, to match the story he knew was something special. So he had invested his own money in ensuring the books were as beautiful as he wanted them to be. Arguing with his publishers, he financed gold-tooled lettering and gilt-edged pages.

He ended up only making a quarter of what he expected with this first publication of “A Christmas Carol”, and the subsequent piracy and lawsuits meant that he struggled to stay above water financially for a few more months. So after “Martin Chuzzlewit”’s final installment in June 1844, Charles Dickens took a break to recoup his energies, and meanwhile live somewhere more cheaply than London. In fact he did not begin writing novels again for over 2 years, with “Dombey and Son” beginning in September 1846.

Initially for several months, the Dickens family travelled through France and Italy, by coach. They visited the most famous sights, eventually settling in Genoa. First Charles Dickens rented the “Palazzo Bagnerello”, and then he took a villa on a hill, called the “Palazzo Peschiere” (Palace of the Fishponds) for 12 months as a base. He describes it “stand[ing] on a height within the walls of Genoa, but aloof from the town”. Although he liked Genoa’s grand palaces, Charles Dickens was always aware of the dreadful extremes of rich and poor:

“the rapid passage from a street of stately edifice, into a maze of the vilest squalor.”

This is where he wrote “The Chimes”, prompted by the cacophonous chorus of Genoese bells, which assaulted his ears it drifted up the hill to the villa.

Charles Dickens went to Rome, visiting St. Peter’s Basilica, “the great dream of Roman churches” but was disappointed by the centre of Rome, which he found to be like any modern European city:

“When the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the distance, it looked like—I am half afraid to write the word—like LONDON!! There it lay, under a thick cloud, with innumerable towers and steeples, and roofs of houses, riding up into the sky, and high above them, all, one dome.”

Expecting by now desolation and ruin: a certain romantic decaying grandeur, Charles Dickens felt dislocated and discomposed. He even said he preferred decay to classic tourist sites, growing more and more gloomy as they approached Naples, a city of:

“Polcinelli and pickpockets, buffo singers and beggars, rags, puppets, flowers, brightness, dirt and universal degradation”,

where Vesuvius was still smouldering in the background, visiting Florence and the:

“phantom streets which are canals, and … buildings made by fairy hands”

of dreamy Venice. Almost drunk by the beauty surrounding him in Venice, he expressed himself as all but in a dream, watching pictures repeatedly dissolve into other pictures like a magic-lantern show. Eventually the family returned to England through Switzerland.

Charles Dickens sent letters home to his close friends such as John Forster from all these places. Two years later, he assembled the letters, and they were published for the first time between 21st January and 11th March 1846, as “Travelling Letters, Written on the Road” in the “London Daily News”. There was also an American edition, in two separate magazines under the same title. He then published a slightly edited version as Pictures from Italy later the same year.

He commissioned a young artist called Samuel Palmer (later to become famous) whose sketches he admired, to draw fine vignettes to illustrate Pictures from Italy, for a fee of twenty guineas. Samuel Palmer produced four small illustrations, depicting the Colosseum, the Villa d’Este at Tivoli, a street of tombs in Pompeii and a vineyard scene. The drawings are very delicate, and reflect Charles Dickens’s own perception of the country as a land of disintegration and decay, associating past ruins with the desolation of the present rather than the grandeur of antiquity.

In the first part, “The Reader’s Passport”, Charles Dickens explains:

“This Book is a series of faint reflections—mere shadows in the water—of places to which the imaginations of most people are attracted in a greater or less degree, on which mine had dwelt for years, and which have some interest for all. The greater part of the descriptions were written on the spot, and sent home, from time to time, in private letters.”

This section is almost an apologia for what is to follow, much as Charles Dickens’s “Prefaces” were to each of his novels. The Italy of 1844 was a very different country from Victorian Britain. Charles Dickens had left behind a bleak industrial wasteland. Victorian England was thrust into the beginning of the industrial revolution, when everything was in upheaval, with the building of the railways, the factories, the new housing and so on. What he found on the continent however, was very different.

Italy was a region more than a country. It was partitioned between Austria, the Papal States, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and other small kingdoms, and its reunification would not occur for more than twenty years in the future. It was a troubled region, with years of political domination by foreign powers, and internal divisions. The industrial revolution had not yet reached Italy, and this shocked Charles Dickens, but it also made him aware of what would soon be lost in the march of industrialisation.

He describes Italy’s cities, with their ancient monuments and grandiose buildings, as decaying and decrepit; mere ghosts of their former glorious past. Yet he delights in the colourful customs and people he meets and observes, revelling in the fact that they enjoyed a vibrancy of life which had for the most part disappeared in the industrial society in the England he knew. There is great poignancy in this juxtaposition, and we feel Charles Dickens’s inner struggle; his joy in the moment, yet despairing of the loss of history, and almost fearing what was to come. And there was another dimension which comes through very strongly.

At this time, Protestants in England and other European countries tended to looked down on the Roman Catholic Italians. Charles Dickens was not intolerant in this way; although his own leanings were low church, Pictures from Italy is generally a celebration of the Italian people. Yet some parts could be misunderstood, as he repeatedly ridicules and pours scorn on the pompous clerics, and glittery, tawdry trappings, the:

“sprawling effigies of maudlin monks, and the veriest trash and tinsel ever seen”.

Charles Dickens had no regard for ceremony and was keen to point up what he saw as a vast hypocrisy, with the desperately poor Italians kowtowing to the immensely rich and powerful Catholic church. The avariciousness of the institution is a constant theme. Time and again, he will view a beautiful cathedral, “drowsy Masses, curling incense, tinkling bells”, statues of the Saints and shrines to the Virgin right next to dirt, poverty, beggars and squalor.

Yet Charles Dickens felt a residual doubt that he would be misunderstood in conveying some of his notes, and stressed that he was not criticising conscientious Catholics and their Faith, which he respected. Nor was he criticising the Italian government (although he did so elsewhere), but only reporting what he had seen for himself in practice. He goes on:

“I have likened these Pictures to shadows in the water, and would fain hope that I have, nowhere, stirred the water so roughly, as to mar the shadows.”

And to be sure to get the reader on his side, he sketched a chart: a droll portrait of his desired reader, as “Fair, Very cheerful, Not supercilious, Smiling, Beaming and Extremely agreeable.”

Charles Dickens was a restless traveller, always seeking more:

“It is such a delight to me, to leave new scenes behind, and still go on, encountering newer scenes.”

And such scenes! Never will I forget the image of Charles Dickens on his knees, shuffling up the Holy Staircase in Rome, and his sly but hilarious observations of his fellow shufflers. Or his awe at the great sheets of fire streaming forth from the crater of Vesuvius, sending red-hot stones into the air, before sliding on his situpon—not down the ashes, but down the smooth icy slope of Mount Vesuvius—aware that his clothes were alight, (and also that even an experienced courier had recently slid to his death in the same way). Or his powerful and grotesquely bloody description of scenes or torture by the Inquisition.

It feels as if he is trying to make sense of the extremes of Italy; on the one hand such beauty, on the other a savage, almost unimaginable cruelty. They would not leave him alone, these mental images, and he places the horrific scenes in our minds too. We are aware throughout, as we are entertained, of Charles Dickens’s conflicted views about Italy. Never will I forget his loathing for the village of Fondi, where:

“a filthy channel of mud and refuse meanders down the centre of the miserable streets, fed by obscene rivulets that trickle from the abject houses”

He notes its hollow-cheeked and scowling people, their:

“bad bright eyes glaring at us, out of the darkness of every crazy tenement, like the glistening fragments of its filth and putrefaction”

with near-naked beggarly children scampering around, fascinated at the sight of themselves reflected in Dickens’s shiny coach. And where the incessant demands for money from all sides made Charles Dickens feel he had switched places, from being the observer, to being the one observed.

He approached the subject in the same way that he approached the characters in his novels. They too were frequently taken from life. Sometimes a dozen or more characters in Charles Dickens’s novels are embellished little portraits of his friends, family, acquaintances or well-known personages. No holds barred, he waspishly used his pen to write as entertaining a picture of them as he could.

Sometimes it is better if you do not recognise a famous celebrity of his time when reading, because if they were notorious, then you will have a good idea of what is going to happen to them in his novel! The opposite case can also be made however, that a character portrait for instance of his mother, father, erstwhile sweetheart and so on, can add greatly to a reader’s enjoyment. It enriches the novel, and adds insight into the author’s mind.

So what is the relevance of that here? It is twofold. Firstly Charles Dickens often imbues the buildings and locations—even the furniture in his stories—with human characteristics. He uses personification more than any other author I know. In a scene where another author might write a description of a beautifully decorated or squalid room, Charles Dickens will tell how the room itself feels smug, because it is tastefully decorated at the height of fashion. Or that a roof on a crumbling building is lopsided, and trying desperately to hold on. Or you may find that you start to feel sorry for a creaky, moth-eaten old chair, because he has described it as woebegone. Or as here:

“Queer old towns, draw-bridged and walled: with odd little towers at the angles, like grotesque faces, as if the wall had put a mask on, and were staring down into the moat;”

The second point leads on from this. Charles Dickens zooms in on the detail. Whereas most authors of factual works feel an obligation to provide a setting, he will only do so if he thinks it is interesting. Often it will be a cursory sentence or two, before he focuses on what he really wants to say. Perhaps it is the poverty of a certain village, or the untrustworthiness of the inhabitants, or the generosity of other simple folk. He describes performances of street theatre drolly, in great—and hilarious—detail. He is ghoulishly distracted by the death-carts, and will poke fun at the pomposity of a town’s officials, rather than tell you anything about its famous monument. He does cover immense churches, dungeons, prisons, panoramic mountain views, and delightful rustic villages. But just as easily as I have gone into predictable stereotypes just there, Charles Dickens will studiously avoid them.

He will go off at a tangent into history, making us feel sorry for the tragic fate of all the oxen, savagely beaten and worked to death, to carry massive slabs of Carrera marble up the rivers and hills, so that fashionable people may be able to line their hearths and decorate their rooms with beautifully worked pieces. Or he will talk to the prisoners, captive for years in the dark,without basic necessities, and reflect on the previous horrors of torture in the dungeons. He conjures up such a vivid picture, that alongside him, we blink with relief at our freedom, and the light of day, when he emerges into the street. Forget neutrality and a dry academic style; Charles Dickens has his own way of expressing his personal reactions and opinions, whilst convincing you that he is being objective.

Charles Dickens’s novelist’s eye comes through very clearly. His is no guide book to Italy, but an attempt to analyse the soul and character of Italy. He keenly observes human behaviour and conditions, and applies his skills of social criticism, just as he does throughout his novels. In some ways this work parallels his first book, “Sketches by Boz”, which described the social life and customs of England, but Pictures from Italy is a far more mature work, where Charles Dickens’s personal views and reactions are to the fore.

In his novels he also casts aspersions on travel writers, for their prescriptive tone. For instance, when they instruct the reader, you must visit this particular Art gallery, and take note of the works by a specific artist, but only in his later period—not his immature works. You must visit a certain city because it has a wonderful cathedral. If you are a cultured person then you must not miss this one, for its aesthetic beauty, especially noting the triptych on the North-West transept … and so on. Charles Dickens takes exception to what he considers pretentious claptrap, and mocks it mercilessly.

I do wonder what such Art critics and travel writers must have thought of his work in what they would consider “their” field. Perhaps they would have summarily dismissed it as not fit for (their) purpose. They would have been right. Charles Dickens could not write a dry, boring text book to save his life. Even at the the height of terror, or great emotion in his novels, he could never resist putting in a ridiculous image to make us smile. Disrespectful, ludicrous, inspired with awe, scathing or simply in a literary temper, this work is different from any other you will read.

Charles Dickens’s impressions of his journeys are exciting and full of thrills, allied with piercing social commentary. He was very much impressed by the vivacious street carnivals, the costumes, and effusive personalities of the Italians, and we share his enthusiasm. Just as in his novels, his descriptions are in parts hilarious, gruesome, exuberant, damning and sometimes discursive to the point of irrelevance, but they are always entertaining. Charles Dickens is here at his most judgemental—and his most persuasive. If he likes a place, you will wish you were there with him. If not, well then you will share his horror and indignation.

And the writing is sublime.

[Candi · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars

“This book is a series of faint reflections – mere shadows in water – of places to which the imagination of most people are attracted in a greater or less degree, on which mine had dwelt for years, and which have some interest for all. The greater part of the descriptions were written on the spot, and sent home, from time to time, in private letters.”

I’m a huge fan of Charles Dickens, yet I had never realized until just recently that he had written a travelogue of sorts. This work was actually assembled from a collection of letters he had sent home to a confidant in England while he travelled with his family throughout Italy, by way of France, in 1844. Having never been to Italy, with no prospects of doing so on the near horizon, I thought this would be a pleasant diversion, which it was. What most appealed to me was that his biggest goal of sorts was to immerse himself in the culture and the people, not necessarily in seeing all of the sites. This is the way I would prefer to travel myself, if given the opportunity (with a friend as translator, of course!)

Naturally, Dickens’s travels brought him to many of the most famed sites regardless of his intentions. He seemed less enthralled with the abundance of churches, cathedrals and holy men than he was with the landscape. He spoke with a bit of disdain when describing what he viewed as the monotony of the religious life and rituals. I certainly didn’t take offense, having fallen asleep in such places more than once in my younger days, but some will perhaps find his tone objectionable on occasion. I appreciated the bit of wry humor, to be honest.

Dickens shines when he is wholly captivated by a setting. When he feels inspired, he inspires the reader as well. One of my favorite sections included his journey through Venice, which he wrote in a dream sequence of sorts. At first, I nearly thought he was truly describing a dream, rather than using dream as metaphor!

“In the luxurious wonder of so rare a dream, I took but little heed of time, and had but little understanding of its flight. But there were days and nights in it; and when the sun was high, and when the rays of lamps were crooked in the running water, I was still afloat, I thought: plashing the slippery walls and houses with the cleavings of the tide, as my black boat, borne upon it, skimmed along the streets.”

I also learned that Charles Dickens had a daredevil side to him as well. I can’t imagine such a thing being possible in this day and age, but he took a trip up Mount Vesuvius that resembled something out of a blockbuster adventure film rather than a Victorian era non-fiction book. Rife with danger and a bit of hysterics, a troop of tourists made the perilous trek up the volcano’s surface. Dickens himself traipsed back down from this menacing cone of fire with the marks of a true adventurer. I’ll surely leave this part of his trip off my own itinerary, should I ever make it that far.

“… we contrive to climb up to the brim, and look down, for a moment, into the Hell of boiling fire below. Then, we all three come rolling down; blackened, and singed, and scorched, and hot, and giddy: and each with his dress alight in half a dozen places.”

I’m pleased to have spent some time in the company of this illustrious author once again. I’ll admit this is not one of my favorite pieces, but it’s one that a completist will want to add to his or her list. Armchair travelers that enjoy Victorian literature will likely admire this as well.

“But it is such a delight to me to leave new scenes behind, and still go on, encountering newer scenes…”

[Lorna · Rating 4 out of 5]

Charles Dickens Pictures from Italy was a delightful sojourn through one of my favorite destinations, one where we have spent a lot of time over the years, and I would return in a heartbeat but not for COVID-19 altering our lives. My fondest memories were of our first trip to Italy with an itinerary in our minds but no reservations as we rented our trusty little red Fiat that took us to such delightful places in Italy for the next month. So enchanted with this beautiful country, we went again spending our time in northern Italy, and loving Milan and Lake Garda, having to go back to Verona and Venice. We are looking forward to our next trip to Italy, and I must say that I love Charles Dickens' idea of approaching the country via southern France; who can pass up Avignon and Nice? It should also be noted that the visual art by Livia Signorini was stunningly beautiful and a valuable resource throughout Charles Dickens' reflections.

"This Book is a series of faint reflections--mere shadows in the water--of places to which the imaginations of most people are attracted in a greater or less degree, on which mine had dwelt for years, and which have some interest for us all."

"A grand and dreamy structure, of immense proportions; golden with old mosaics; redolent of perfumes; dim with the smoke of incense; costly in treasure of precious stones and metals, glittering through iron bars; holy with the bodies of deceased saints; rainbow-hued with windows of stained glass; dark with carved woods and colored marbles; obscure in its vast heights, and lengthened distances; shining with silver lamps and winking lights; unreal, fantastic, solemn, inconceivable throughout."

[Jola · Rating 4 out of 5]

Feeling sorrowful, as my delectable trip with Mr Dickens has just come to an inevitable end. Not surprisingly Italy turned out to be splendid but I have some observations to share about my travel companion also.

Everything you always wanted to know about my trip to Italy with Charles Dickens and his family* (*but were afraid to ask)

Frequently Unasked Questions

Why Italy?
Italy combines so many things I adore that the list would be endless. Charles Dickens sums up my awe concisely: 'Let us part from Italy, with all its miseries and wrongs, affectionately, in our admiration of the beauties, natural and artificial, of which it is full to overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a people, naturally well-disposed, and patient, and sweet-tempered.


Joseph Mallord William Turner, 'Modern Rome – Campo Vaccino' (1839) [Image source]

'Pictures from Italy', a travelogue written by Dickens in 1846, will presumably disappoint the readers who fancy a bath in a fountain of knowledge, 'full to overflowing' with dates and names. Wrong address, I'm afraid. But if you feel like inhaling sparkling loveliness effortlessly, you will enjoy this book a lot.

Please, be prepared to see Italy as it was in 1844. It may astonish you at times: 'More solitary, more depopulated, more deserted, old Ferrara, than any city of the solemn brotherhood! The grass so grows up in the silent streets, that any one might make hay there, literally, while the sun shines.' Sorry to disappoint you but making hay in the streets of Ferrara might be a challenge nowadays.

Dickens’ travelogue is a love letter to Italy but his infatuation isn’t blind. He complains about negligence and poverty he observes at times. It hurts him to notice that some works of art and buildings are falling into decay. However, he sees positive effects of this: 'In another place, there was a gallery of pictures: so abominably bad, that it was quite delightful to see them mouldering away.'

Jorge Luis Borges wasn't fond of Dickens' travelogue: 'he traveled to France, to Italy, but without trying to understand those countries. He was always looking for humorous episodes to recount.' Personally I wouldn't rate the author so severely but you may be deluded if you expect an in-depth social or historical analysis. Albeit there is much compassion behind all the enthralling descriptions.

Confucius advised, 'Wherever you go, go with all your heart'. Dickens seems to share this attitude. He travelled to Italy with all his heart indeed. Just look at his description of Coliseum: 'Its solitude, its awful beauty, and its utter desolation, strike upon the stranger the next moment, like a softened sorrow; and never in his life, perhaps, will he be so moved and overcome by any sight, not immediately connected with his own affections and afflictions.’


Angelo Inganni, 'Notturno di Piazza del Duomo a Milano' (1844) [Image source]

Why Dickens?
When my friend was reading a harrowing study on the Siege of Leningrad, she asked me to guess which author was appreciated most by people who lived in these inhumane conditions. Strangely enough, I suspected correctly. It was Dickens. In terms of giving comfort, his books are invincible.

My relationship with Charles Dickens has gone through two stages so far. The first phase was highlighted by books like 'David Copperfield', 'Oliver Twist' and 'The Christmas Carol'. I liked and appreciated all of them but it wasn't a crush. I perceived Dickens as an affectionate and clever but predictable uncle, who made me yawn at times. Then everything changed. Just one novel revolutionized the way I regarded and rated Dickens. It was 'Great Expectations'. Much more than a crush this time.

I didn’t find 'Pictures from Italy' as enchanting as 'Great Expectations' but I was pleasantly impressed by the writing style, the labyrinthine sentences, the onomatopoeia, the loose composition. I was astounded every time I realized the book was written in 1846. My fingers ached from highlighting hectares of passages I loved.

How come?
The aim of the book is explained very clearly. Dickens wants to share some glimpses of a trip he enjoyed immensely. Most of his observations and descriptions were written on the spot and come from the letters he sent to his family.

The title says it all. If he published the book today, it would be probably 'Selfies from Italy'.


James Holland, 'Piazza dei Signori in Verona with the Market Place' (1844). [Image source]

Your itinerary?
Quite breathtaking:
France – Genoa – Parma – Modena – Bologna – Ferrara - Venice - Verona – Mantua – Milan – Switzerland - Pisa – Siena – Rome - Naples – Paestum - Vesuvius – Pompeii – Monte Cassino – Florence.

And the weather?
Come on, when you explore a divine country with an entertaining companion, you don’t pay attention to prosaic things like the weather, do you?

'Pictures from Italy' turned out to be a perfect summer read. During ferocious heats Dickens' sardonic observations had a cooling effect on me. However, get ready for bloodcurdling scenes also: for example there is a detailed description of beheading.

Did you enjoy the Italian cuisine?
Of course, some eccentricities excluded: 'There is a stewed pigeon, with the gizzards and livers of himself and other birds stuck all round him.'

What was your travel companion like?
Truly amusing!

If you read any novels by Dickens, you wouldn’t be surprised, that he was much more interested in people he met on the way than in the monuments. No matter how hard he concentrates on picturesque places of interest, he ends up observing people: 'Crossing from these patches of thick darkness, out into the moon once more, the fountain of Trevi, welling from a hundred jets, and rolling over mimic rocks, is silvery to the eye and ear. In the narrow little throat of street, beyond, a booth, dressed out with flaring lamps, and boughs of trees, attracts a group of sulky Romans round its smoky coppers of hot broth, and cauliflower stew; its trays of fried fish, and its flasks of wine.'


Outdoor dress for men and women, Italy, 'Corriere delle Dame' (1844). [Image source]

Even the people who appear for a few minutes are portrayed masterfully, for instance: 'a monstrous ugly Tuscan, with a great purple moustache, of which no man could see the ends when he had his hat on' or 'a silly, old, meek-faced, garlic-eating, immeasurably polite Chevalier, with a dirty scrap of red ribbon hanging at his button-hole, as if he had tied it there to remind himself of something'.

As usual, Dickens' sense of humour is unbeatable: he can notice and point out ridiculous things in people but he describes them with such warmth and cordiality! The book beams with them. No traces of cynism, no patronizing. I know it’s irrational but it felt as if Dickens was smiling all the time, while writing his travelogue.

The thing that disappointed me a little was lack of information about Dickens’ wife and children who were accompanying him. He probably wanted to stick to the romantic image of a lonely traveller.

How much did it cost?
The peregrination with Dickens was completely free. Let me assure you that I didn’t board a pirate ship. The e-book is available in a few formats at the Project Gutenberg website.

Can I join you?
You are more than welcome. No worries if you don’t comply with any of the conditions Dickens lists below:
'And I have only now, in passport wise, to sketch my reader’s portrait, which I hope may be thus supposititiously traced for either sex:

Complexion Fair.
Eyes Very cheerful.
Nose Not supercilious.
Mouth Smiling.
Visage Beaming.
General Expression Extremely agreeable.'

Any plans for the future?
Friends for life.
I wholeheartedly agree with Borges, who stated, 'once one has read some of Dickens’s pages, once one has resigned oneself to some of his bad habits, to his sentimentalism, to his melodramatic characters, one has found a friend for life.'


Carl Spitzweg, 'English Tourists in Campagna' (circa 1845) [Image source]

[Connie G · Rating 4 out of 5]

The family of Charles Dickens traveled from England, through France, to Italy in 1844. They made beautiful Genoa their home base while they made side trips to areas of interest in Italy. Then they visited Switzerland on their return trip to England. Dickens sent letters home with his personal impressions of each site visited. He used that information to publish a series of eight "Traveling Letters" in the Daily News. These articles were gathered together in "Pictures from Italy" in 1846. Dickens also used his experiences from this trip to set some of the scenes in The Chimes and Little Dorrit.

The book tells about Dickens' personal reactions to the Italian people, the culture, and the beauty of the places he visited. He was enchanted by Venice, and described it as a dream. He enjoyed the history surrounding the Colosseum and ruins, but was not impressed by the religious rituals during Holy Week in Rome. An especially exciting part of the book told of his visit to Mount Vesuvius where he climbed to the rim of the active volcano before sliding down the slippery lava with his clothes singed. Traveling through the snowy Alps with a coach and horses over the winding mountain roads also had elements of danger.

Italy had not yet experienced the Industrial Revolution in 1844, so the Dickens passed through towns where farming, making wine, fishing, mining, hospitality, and selling merchandise were the principle occupations. Churches had a prominent place in every town. He mentioned the poverty and the presence of beggars in some areas.

My father had been in Europe with the US Army doing radio work during World War II. Fifty years ago, he wanted to revisit some of the charming places he had enjoyed. He took our family on a trip to Paris, Munich, and Vienna. We also enjoyed some side trips, including some in northern Italy. My father drove a VW bus through the mountainous Alps, and we hoped he had good health and the vehicle had good brakes as we circled the down the mountains! I found extra pleasure reading Dickens' account of his trip since we had several stops in common. "Pictures from Italy" brought back many pleasant memories. Now is the perfect time to do some traveling through our reading!
3.5 stars.

[Alan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dickens wrote Pictures of Italy during his year there in 1844, two years after his first tour of America, and about 7 years after he lived in the house now a museum on Doughty Street, London, and wrote both Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby there. Also, it was four years before the Italian Revolution, which began in 1848, finished in 1871. (Garibaldi, during his first attempt to free Rome in 1849, lived in the same place I did at the American Academy, the Villa on the Gianicolo hill; part of our residence was the Ancient Roman wall built by Aurelius.)
All over Italy, Dickens finds some doubtful inns, “your own horses being stabled under the bed, that every time a horse coughs, he wakes you” but even the worst Italian inn will entertain you, “Especially, when you get such wine in flasks as the Orvieto, and the Monte Pulciano”(103).

Before Italy, in Avignon, Dickens saw the cell where Rienzi was held, and the instruments of Inquisition torture. He disparages Marseilles, but loves the sail on the vessel Marie Antoinette, to Genova, so beautiful and layered in the sun as they arrive late afternoon, “its beautiful amphitheater, terrace rising above terrace, palace above palace, height above height, was ample occupation for us, until we ran into its stately harbour”(23). Walking uphill, he finds many women wearing blue—to honor the Madonna for a year or two: “blue being (as is well known) the Madonna’s favorite colour. Women who have devoted themselves to this act of Faith, are very commonly seen walking in the streets”(43).
One of the three Genovese theaters is open air, Teatro Diurno, the audience’s faces turned this way, “changed so suddenly from earnestness to laughter; and odder still, the rounds upon rounds of applause, rattling in the evening air, to which the curtain falls”(48). The Marionetti—a famous company from Milan— is, without any exception, the drollest exhibition I have ever beheld in my life. I never saw anything so exquisitely ridiculous”(44).

Of Milano, where I have lived almost yearly, two weeks or a month, Dickens notes the Duomo spire into the fog might as well have ended in Bombay. He mentions La Scala, and the Corso Garibaldi where the gentry ride in carriages under the trees, “and rather than not do which, they would half starve themselves at home”(88). But he astutely notes the city is “not so unmistakeably Italian,” it has an admixture of the French and the north generally…not to mention, now, the world.
Dickens made it to Carrara. When I lived there a couple weeks translating Bruno’s hilarious Candelaio, I loved the huge Meschi sculpture to Union workers, and the small Cathedral, my favorite in Italy —along with San Marco Venice, Dickens’ favorite, “a much greater sense of mystery and wonder” than at St Peter’s (107). I parked on the marble sidewalks while translating. Marble sidewalks sound better than they are when there’s a garage and cars drip oil on ‘em. My Milan daughter’s relative drove us up to the marble caves—the great profit now’s in the marble dust they make kitchen counters from. The trucks with huge marble blocks are dangerous, descending; their brakes don’t suffice, so they depend on low, low gear. If the truck gets away, they’re dead over the side. One monument stands beside the road for many accidents. When Dickens went up to the caves he rode a pony, and he learned some of the mines went back to Roman times (95). He tells of the signal for an explosion, a low, “melancholy bugle” upon which the miners would retreat expecting the blast.

He sees many processions, such as a Roman one after dusk, “a great many priests, walking two and two, and carrying—the good-looking priests at least—their lighted tapers, so as to throw the light with a good effect upon their faces”(143). He witnessed the climbing of the Holy Stairs, one man touching each step with his forehead, a lady praying on each one, but every penitent came down energetic, “which would take a good deal of sin to counterbalance”(147). He calls such a scene “droll enough.” At a dinner where the Pope “served” thirteen Cardinals, the latter “smiled to each other, from time to time, as if they thought the whole thing were a great farce.”

Our Victorian describes exactly what I saw during my N.E.H. seminar in Naples under Jean D’Amato, “The fairest country in the world, is spread about us. Whether we turn towards the Miseno shore of the splendid watery amphitheatre, and go by the Grotto of Posilipo and away to Baiae: or the other way, towards Vesuvius and Sorrento, it is one succession of delights”(156). “Everything is done in pantomime in Naples,” with hand gestures—but also with Neapolitan proverbs which I learned to be accepted by the nearest pizza-maker off Via Carraciolo to accept my order for Pizza Napolitano. He talks of Via Chiaja, my route to the Spanish palace with the National Library, and San Carlo Opera house (so that as I studied Bruno their local boy, I heard vocal and instruments practice for the opera). Off of Chiaia the first pizza, Pizza Margherita named for the Queen of Naples, was made; the shop’s still open, Pizzeria Brandi.
He tells of ladies being carried down Vesuvius on litters, until the litter-bearers slipped, of Leghorn / Livorno being famous for knifing, with an assassin’s club recently jailed, and visits to Herculaneum (which the British largely unearthed a century before) as well as Paestum, where three of the finest Greek temples, built “hundreds of years before the birth of Christ, and standing yet, erect in lonely majesty, upon the wild, malaria-blighted plain” (161). I was so exhilarated to tour those temples, where the stone altars are outside, of course, for sacrifice, and only more exhilarated to learn Zeno the Greek Stoic lived there.

He happened across a beheading in Rome, which disgusted Dickens. The gallows had been set up before San Giovanni Decollata. It was supposed to occur at 8:45, but was delayed 'til after 11 because the condemned young man, barefoot on the scaffold, had refused to confess until his wife was brought to him. He had accompanied a Bavarian countess for forty miles pretending to guard her, then killed her, took her clothes and jewelry, gave 'em to his wife, who had seen the countess walk through town, so she told the priest.

[Janelle · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is an enjoyable read. Dickens writes about his travels in Italy in 1844 when he was there for almost a year. He is witty and observant as always and shows great energy and adventure (the mt Vesuvius climb while it sounds like it’s erupting would be an insurance nightmare I’d imagine these days!). The chapter on Venice is the highlight. Written as though seen in a dream it is a beautiful piece of writing.

[Petra · Rating 3 out of 5]

"I am not easily dispirited when I have the means of pursuing my own fancies and occupations" - made me laugh....aren't we all happy to have the means to pursue our own fancies?
"It is miserable to see great works of art - something of the Souls of Painters - perishing and fading away"

This is a different Dickens than in his novels, and yet the same. He's humorous, descriptive, observant. But unlike his novels, where he gets to the core of his characters and they come alive, the people in this book are distant, even when described in detail. The reason for this may be that Dickens is writing from memory; not as he was travelling.

[Franky · Rating 3 out of 5]

Charles Dickens took a break from his prolific novel writing career to visit and tour Italy and write a travelogue of the sights and the scenery of some of the most vintage and historical places. In Pictures from Italy, he details his recollections of his visits and, as usual, gives his own take and commentary on particular things that were going on at the time and the state of many of these Italian sights.

So, after finishing this, I am thinking that Dickens is in best form when he is writing a detailed, lengthy work of fiction with eccentric and quirky characters and important themes, not when he is writing nonfiction.

Here, I found the overall tone from Dickens rather snobbish and pretentious. As he details some of the places he visited, he can not help but to inject too much of his commentary into his travelogue, which I found distracting and a tad annoying. I would have preferred if he had just detailed the sights without all the additional social commentary. These sidebars seemingly lessen the reading experience. While I get that much of his make up in creating his fictional works does, in fact, involve the same thing I am complaining about (his own social commentary within his character and plot), here it takes away and comes across as distracting.

Another less than stellar aspect is that the travelogue, which divided very loosely into chapters, has a scattered, uneven sort of feel, as if Dickens is rambling and then moving on to something else without finishing his thought about something he saw or a place he visited.

Pictures from Italy is well-written in the sense that you can certainly visualize through Dickens careful detail and imagery, many of these wonderful Italian cities and historical places. He is in best form in my opinion when he is describing these historical sights and amazing scenery on his visit. I just wish he would have had more of this, and less of the commentary.

I will just stick with Dickens’ fiction writing from now on.

[Antonis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Κι εκεί που λες ότι διάβασες απλώς ένα καλαίσθητο βιβλιαράκι (εξαιρετική η έκδοση από την Κίχλη και η μετάφραση του Γιάννη Παλαβού) που περιλαμβάνει δύο περιγραφές για σεμινάριο (του καρναβαλιού στη Ρώμη και ενός δημόσιου αποκεφαλισμού στην ίδια πόλη) από ένα -μάλλον άγνωστο στο ελληνικό κοινό- ταξιδιωτικό έργο του Ντίκενς, έρχεται μια φράση στην τελευταία σελίδα που πραγματικά σε συνταράζει:

«Ο δήμιος -ένας εγκληματίας με τη βούλα του κράτους (τι ειρωνεία για τη Δικαιοσύνη!), ο οποίος τρέμοντας για τη ζωή του, δεν τολμά να διασχίσει τη γέφυρα Σάντ' Άντζελο παρά μόνο για να κάνει τη δουλειά του - ξαναγύρισε στο λαγούμι του και η παράσταση έλαβε τέλος.»

[Deb (Readerbuzz) Nance · Rating 2 out of 5]

I did not like this book, so I am probably not the best person to review it. Why, I'd like to ask Mr. Charles Dickens, would you go to visit a place you find to be dirty and dilapidated and filled with people that are dirty and dilapidated? He seemed to like a couple of spots in Italy, especially parts of Rome and Florence, but the rest? It was hard for me to listen him tear down the spiritual practices of the people and the life in small villages and the art. On and on he went.

I wish I had skipped this book.

[Dawnie · Rating 3 out of 5]

i am still it sure how to rate this book!

i loved some parts of it, dickens sharp, sometimes even biting descriptions on main land European lives hat he found lacking or too extreme (mostly there is no in between for him, either he finds if highly lacking and in poor taste or way over the top and mostly in poor taste because of that) but the way he describes moments, scenery and towns is wonderful!

but at the same time i constantly felt as if dickens saw himself and ever english men (person) as something better than everyone else in europe.
he seems to be constantly criticizing, comparing and complaining about all the differences between where he was and england.

and while that clearly brings something to the book and makes the way it is written different it’s not really how i personally enjoy travel writing.

on the other hand this was one of the very first books of this kind published, so is there really a way to say that dickens did it wrong if he was one of the first to do it?
and anyway is there really a wrong way to travel or share that experience?

i guess not even if not every reader will absolutely love how the experience is shared - since i didn’t really love this, but i also didn’t hate it.


i can certainly appreciate how dickens shares his view and it did transport me back in time in some aspects, so it wasn’t that bad.


all on all i do think that’s something every sickens lover should read and give a try.

or if you are interested in it without loving dickens other works.

it’s defiantly readable and interesting and worth a try!

but please don’t read the introduction of the penguin black library book before reading the actual book - because of you do why even bother with the rest of it seeing that it’s basically a shortened version of what dickens is going to share?

[Kyriakos Sorokkou]

χρόνος ανάγνωσης κριτικής: 41 δευτερόλεπτα

Είχα σκοπό να διαβάσω αυτό το βιβλίο όταν θα ήμουν Ρώμη τον
περασμένο Σεπτέμβρη αλλά κλασικά λόγω καθυστέρησης του κούριερ
 το διάβασα στην Κύπρο, αφού επέστρεψα από την Ρώμη.
Τουλάχιστον οι ρωμαϊκές μου μνήμες ήταν νωπές ακόμη.

Στη Ρώμη μπήκα την επομένη στα Ιταλικά Public a.k.a. LaFeltrinelli
και πήρα την πλήρη και πρωτότυπη έκδοση των εμπειριών του Ντίκενς
στην Ιταλία του 19ου αιώνα.

Η απορία μου για αυτή την όμορφη αλλά ταυτόχρονα μικρή ελληνική έκδοση
είναι η εξής:
Γιατί να μην εκδοθεί η πλήρης έκδοση αντί μια έκδοση που όχι μόνο είναι
αποσπασματική της πρωτότυπης αλλά είναι και το 1/5 του εκτενέστερου
κεφαλαίου, Ρώμη.

Θα μπορούσε η γραμματοσειρά να μην ήταν αυτή των παιδικών βιβλίων
και να ήταν μεγαλύτερη η έκδοση.

Ίσως ήταν μια δοκιμαστική έκδοση τσέπης για να δουν αν διαβάζεται ο Ντίκενς;
Αλλά αφού διαβάζεται. . . 

Τέλος πάντων, το βιβλίο αυτό το συστήνω αν έχετε πάει πρόσφατα ή θα πάτε Ρώμη
και δεν ξέρετε Αγγλικά.
Περιέχει δύο από τις 10 τουλάχιστον εικόνες / εμπειρίες που είχε ο Ντίκενς στην Ρώμη,
την καρναβαλίστικη παρέλαση, και τον αποκεφαλισμό ενός εγκληματία.

Η συνέχεια στην αγγλική έκδοση εδώ.

[Cynda · Rating 3 out of 5]

I almost finished this book, almost made myself read this disrespectful trail of words. Travel in the 19th century was not only difficult but dangerous. Why travel to a country where you have no intention of being respectful, thoughtful, meditative, expansive.

I'm done.

[Kayleigh Baetens · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nov 5, 2024: I am not sure if he likes Italy or not.

Update:
Mar 28, 2025: When Dickens and the family moved to a Palazzo he figured out that he did like Italy! (I would be happier in a Palazzo as well). After figuring out a topic and a whole lot of close reading--too much for a short essay--I regained my initial love for this book and Dickens of course, though that never wavered. Ghostly Dreams is a fact, now the Haunting Ruins!

Update:
Apr 17, 2025: Oh, how I love Dickens: some of my favourite quotes:
- If ever Ghosts act plays, they act them on this ghostly stage. (68)
- I have, many a time thought since, of this strange Dream upon the water: half-wondering if it lie there yet and if its name be VENICE. (85)
- I read Romeo and Juliet in my own room at that inn that night--of course, no Englishman had ever read it there [Verona], before (89)
- As it [Coliseum] tps he other ruins: standing there, a mountain among graves: so do its ancient influences outlive all other remnants of the ol mythology and old butcher of Rome, in nature of the fierce and cruel Roman people. (118)
- [...] but what is the solitude of a region where men have never dwelt, to that of a Desert, where a mighty race have left their footprints in the earth from which they have vanished; where the resting-places of their Dead, have fallen like their Dead; and the broken hour-glass of Time is but a heap of idle dust! (149)
- [...] lose all count of time, and heed of other things, in the strange and melancholy sensation of seeing the Destroyed [Pompeii] and the Destroyer [Mount Vesuvius] making this quiet picture in the sun. (169)
- What words can paint the gloom and grandeur of this scene! (seeing Vesuvius) (174)

[Kathleen · Rating 3 out of 5]

In 1844, author Charles Dickens and his family traveled through France to Italy where they spent almost a year visiting the major towns and sites. After returning home he wrote about what he saw and his impressions of the people and the towns for The Daily News. In 1846 he published those articles in the book, Pictures from Italy. The pictures are those Dickens drew with words.

Dickens’ comments about his trip are very personal, and from his perspective. He was very clear about what he liked and what he did not like. In reading Pictures from Italy, it becomes very obvious that Dickens disliked the Catholic churches as they are very different from the Protestant ones he was used to in England. Dickens especially disliked St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. However, in Rome he very much liked the Colosseum and the Roman Carnival, which is held just before Lent begins.

I especially enjoyed viewing, through Dickens’ eyes, the places where I’ve been in Italy, including Venice, Milan, Pisa and Rome, even though I visited those places over 150 years later. Dickens writes about the view of Florence from above the Arno; I have photos taken from the same point and was equally awed. He saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa before it was somewhat straightened. I wish I had read this book before my trip.

I was very impressed with Dickens’ description of his trip up Mount Vesuvius. They went right up to the active crater and looked in.

“What with their noise, and what with the trembling of the thin crust of ground, that seems about to open underneath our feet and plunge us in the burning gulf below (which is the real danger, if there be any); and what with the flashing of the fire in our faces, and the shower of red-hot ashes that is raining down, and the choking smoke and sulphur; we may well feel giddy and irrational, like drunken men. But, we contrive to climb up to the brim, and look down, for a moment, into the Hell of boiling fire below. Then, we all three come rolling down; blackened, and singed, and scorched, and hot, and giddy: and each with his dress alight in half-a-dozen places.”

I did not enjoy his change of tone and perspective when he wrote about Venice.

Now that he has visited Italy he can use it as a setting in his novels, which he did in Little Dorrit.

I found it interesting that while he was traveling with his wife, five of his children, and other family members, he rarely mentions being with anyone other than himself and, sometimes, his guide.

Pictures from Italy is a great resource for what Italy and travel were like in the middle of the nineteenth century. Dickens’ experiences can be used by those writing about that time and place.

A map of his trip can be found here:
https://www.charlesdickenspage.com/ch...

[Luminița Gabura · Rating 3 out of 5]

Short stories on visiting Italy and what has impressed the most the author. It is full of description of Italian traditions, parties and religious rituals, thus presenting the "soul" of the Italian people. When visiting museum or other points of attraction, the description does not focus on the visual aspects of the place, but merely on the history behind that and the feelings that the author has. It is a good book to daydream and travel with your mind in the Italy of late 19th century.

[Bianca · Rating 3 out of 5]

Being an Italian reader, this book has been a real adventure for me. It's funny to see your country through the eyes of an English author of the XIX century. From Genoa to Florence, from Rome to Naples, my beloved Italy has been told and described by one of the authors I love the most. Descriptions are accurate as usual, and there're also a lot of funny sketches about daily life in Italy. Some pages have made me laugh, some other have made me angry, of course. There's something I'd wish to say to Charles, old chap, about our country and our uses but it's too late to do that, I suppose. What has surprised me the most was the enthusiastic view of Milan, but we should consider that Dickens has visited this town BEFORE the great industrialisation. This is why he tells us about its architectural and artistic beauty, passing through natural spots that perhaps don't even exist anymore. The most interesting feature of these notes (because these ARE notes and nothing more) is how ironically they've been written, but it doesn't surprise me very much. Dickens has always written like that, and it's really interesting to read something of his that is not a novel and that contains the main features of a real, autobiographical logbook.

For this and other reviews: https://notsoredheadblog.wordpress.co...

[Andy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Informative, witty and occasionally tedious.

[Scarlett · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dickens in his junkie era?

[Kyriakos Sorokkou]

χρόνος ανάγνωσης κριτικής: 23 δευτερόλεπτα

Σε αντίθεση με την ελληνική έκδοση εδώ,
η αγγλική περιέχει εικόνες και από την Φλωρεντία (κούκλα πόλη που επίσης
επισκέφτηκα τον περασμένο Σεπτέμβρη), εικόνες από την Βενετία και την Βερόνα,
που επισκέφτηκα το 2010, όπως επίσης και από πολλές άλλες πόλεις της Ιταλίας,
Γένοβα, Πάρμα, Μιλάνο, Νάπολη, Πίζα Πάδοβα, Μπολόνια κλπ.
Εξού και ο τίτλος: Εικόνες της Ιταλίας αντί Δύο εικόνες της Ρώμης

No offence, αλλά παρόλο που είναι πολύ παλιότερός του, η γραφή του Ντίκενς
είναι πολύ πιο ενδιαφέρουσα από του Καζαντζάκη η οποία όπως έχω ξαναπεί
είναι τίγκα στη φιλοσοφία αντί να μας ταξιδέψει με εικόνες των τόπων που πάει.

[Amy · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book has given me my new life motto - "Courage, friend! It is to eat macaroni!"
If that doesn't get you through anything, I don't know what does.
This was a pleasant read. I found it unexpectedly charming and witty and not as blatantly racist as I expected. Dickens is a master of ironic detail and painting squalor within charming pictures.
Unfortunately, he's also still the Victorian so several passages dragged a bit.
Overall, though, pleasant is the word I'd give this one.

[Umar Abdulmajeed · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oh, how I've missed reading this author! I could read his description of something as mundane as a brick wall, and I would find it interesting. When (God willing!), I eventually go to Italy, this lovely travelogue will be my traveling companion.

[Bob Schnell · Rating 3 out of 5]

Reading non-fiction by Charles Dickens is very different from his fiction. His first person narrative is so unlike his other writing that I found it difficult to believe it was the same author. However, once I got into the rhythm of it, I found the book to be enjoyable and often wryly humorous. Dickens doesn't seem to care much for the Italian people he meets, but he is fascinated by the ghosts of the Italian past. He visits the Coliseum every day he is in Rome because of the images of the ancient past it evokes. Pompeii haunts him with its desolation and the knowledge of its former glory.

When in Rome, Dickens witnessed a public execution by guillotine. This was a decade before "A Tale of Two Cities" and may have been the inspiration for at least those scenes of the French Revolution. You can practically see him writing it in his mind during and after the gruesome spectacle.

[Eileen · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars

[Rosewater Emily · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book is a series of faint reflections – mere shadows in the water; и не сможет не поверить автору человек, в более-менее близкой, листабельной, пустословософской, мере знакомый с творческим дарованием Чарльза из Чатема пера Честертона. Разве где-либо, кроме как в мире бледных отражений, придёт здравостранствующему индивиду мысль пересчитывать число бубенчиков, украшающих четвёрку лошадей с одним форейтором (postilion) в необъятных ботфортах (immense jack-boots), даже если распоследний двоечник и деклассированный лентяй арьерпартийным глазом, насаженным на истощённый мешками с маковыми головками спиной мозг, узревает, что их, bells, как и позвонков, всего-то 96?
Стремление посещать пенитенциарные заведения в писателе сохранило неугасимость заатлантическую, это факт; однако упоминание о детях итальянских любопытнейше ограничивается чуть ли не одним предложением, касающимся расстояния между Парижем и Шалоном (i don’t believe we saw a hundred children), что прямо, как единственная извилина гения противо-воздушной обороны, перпен-клуб-дикулярно воспылавшему неожиданно ярко (в контексте отдельно взятого путешествия ещё более отдельно взятого англичанина во всеохватывающе означаемое королевство Средиземноморского бассейна) пристрастию к исследованию особенностей погребальной ритуалистики, отличающей население Апеннинского полуострова от, например, великобриттов славного Уэльса или цинциннаторов раболепствующей Заатлантики. Генуэзские колодцы привлекают едва ли не большее внимание особо выдающихся членов Рояльного социетата искусств, нежели кваканье лягушек (after nightfall one would think that scores upon scores of women in patterns were going up and down a wet stone pavement without a moment’s cessation) или способность святости и красоты устоять "перед соблазном контрабанды" (yield to the temptation of smuggling), приблизительное процентное соотношение числа бездельников на площадях и в аптечных лавках или самоотречЕнные изыскания благородными соотечественниками горчицы на столе инсценируемой Трапезы с совокупным омовением Понтификом самых нижних из конечностей, нуждающихся в омовении лицом до такой степени высокого, при всём том духовного сана, и принадлежащих лицам, временно исполняющим обязанности двенадцати апостолов и одного оскорбившегося коррупционера (по заветам господина Гротовского с решительностью товарища Шванкмайера исполняющим, надо признать - о чём разумеется автор записок до публикации упомянуть не посмел, из-за прилагающегося Шекспира). Не менее римского квартала, в котором запирали\ют евреев, как только часы пробьют восемь вечера (a miserable place, densely populated, and reeking with bad odours, but where the people are industrious and money-getting).
К сожалению, цитируя [ч]исто великобриттское признание автора, он cannot leave своё natural perception of what is natural and true, at a palace-door, in Italy or elsewhere, как он привык оставлять свои шузЫ, предпринимая странствие по [босяцкому, сандалистскому] Востоку: отсюда своеобразие оценки архитектурных, скульптурных, кисте-холстовых и других масонских объектов - конкретнее, одномерное неприятие того, что не укладывается в рамки персональных преференций в том, для полноценной идентификации чего рядовому эксперту нередко не достаёт двух элементов: гладко выбритой черепушки и очков с закрепляющейся в кадре за несколько лет до облагораживаемых ею органов нюхательного зрения оправой.
Однако хотя бы ради ниженеприводимого описания портрета Беатриче Ченчи (1577-99) из Римского раздела осилить ещё одно странствие сентенциями чудесного во многих смыслах (не менее реалистического в некоторых) романиста, сокращая неизбежное заключение до одной неопределённой, как пост-сове��ское парламентско-президентское дипломатическое эго, формы - стоит.

[Sandra-Saskia Kärmas · Rating 2 out of 5]

ma lugesin seda raamatut reaalselt aasta aega…

[catarina · Rating 5 out of 5]

i need to recreate the grand tour in my lifetime

[Kim · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 1844, Charles Dickens took a break from novel writing to travel through Italy for almost a year and this is what came out of it. This book that is, Pictures from Italy was published in 1846.

If the readers of this volume will be so kind as to take their credentials for the different places which are the subject of its author’s reminiscences, from the Author himself, perhaps they may visit them, in fancy, the more agreeably, and with a better understanding of what they are to expect.

Many books have been written upon Italy, affording many means of studying the history of that interesting country, and the innumerable associations entwined about it. I make but little reference to that stock of information; not at all regarding it as a necessary consequence of my having had recourse to the storehouse for my own benefit, that I should reproduce its easily accessible contents before the eyes of my readers.

Neither will there be found, in these pages, any grave examination into the government or misgovernment of any portion of the country. No visitor of that beautiful land can fail to have a strong conviction on the subject; but as I chose when residing there, a Foreigner, to abstain from the discussion of any such questions with any order of Italians, so I would rather not enter on the inquiry now. During my twelve months’ occupation of a house at Genoa, I never found that authorities constitutionally jealous were distrustful of me; and I should be sorry to give them occasion to regret their free courtesy, either to myself or any of my countrymen.



And there it is, Dickens intro to this travel book. There is little in the book that reminds you of a book to use while traveling. Being Dickens his writing is like no one else's. He starts his trip with a section titled, Going Through France. It seems like a perfectly logical thing to do when you are on your way to Italy. It makes me think of all the places he had been. I'm not sure when he got the time to write, but he did. Dickens says what is in the book so much better than I, I will use a little of what he says and be as quiet as possible. One of the first things he mentions is they were traveling on Sunday which is apparently frowned upon, in England anyway:

There was, of course, very little in the aspect of Paris—as we rattled near the dismal Morgue and over the Pont Neuf—to reproach us for our Sunday travelling. The wine-shops (every second house) were driving a roaring trade; awnings were spreading, and chairs and tables arranging, outside the cafés, preparatory to the eating of ices, and drinking of cool liquids, later in the day; shoe-blacks were busy on the bridges; shops were open; carts and waggons clattered to and fro; the narrow, up-hill, funnel-like streets across the River, were so many dense perspectives of crowd and bustle, parti-coloured nightcaps, tobacco-pipes, blouses, large boots, and shaggy heads of hair; nothing at that hour denoted a day of rest, unless it were the appearance, here and there, of a family pleasure-party, crammed into a bulky old lumbering cab; or of some contemplative holiday-maker in the freest and easiest dishabille, leaning out of a low garret window, watching the drying of his newly polished shoes on the little parapet outside (if a gentleman), or the airing of her stockings in the sun (if a lady), with calm anticipation.

I wonder how many houses in Paris are wine-shops. It is comments like that that can make me laugh when nothing else will. But now he has made it to the city of Lyons and goes on a tour of the cathedral:

For this reason, I should abstain from mentioning the curious clock in Lyons Cathedral, if it were not for a small mistake I made, in connection with that piece of mechanism. The keeper of the church was very anxious it should be shown; partly for the honour of the establishment and the town; and partly, perhaps, because of his deriving a percentage from the additional consideration. However that may be, it was set in motion, and thereupon a host of little doors flew open, and innumerable little figures staggered out of them, and jerked themselves back again, with that special unsteadiness of purpose, and hitching in the gait, which usually attaches to figures that are moved by clock-work. Meanwhile, the Sacristan stood explaining these wonders, and pointing them out, severally, with a wand. There was a centre puppet of the Virgin Mary; and close to her, a small pigeon-hole, out of which another and a very ill-looking puppet made one of the most sudden plunges I ever saw accomplished: instantly flopping back again at sight of her, and banging his little door violently after him. Taking this to be emblematic of the victory over Sin and Death, and not at all unwilling to show that I perfectly understood the subject, in anticipation of the showman, I rashly said, ‘Aha! The Evil Spirit. To be sure. He is very soon disposed of.’ ‘Pardon, Monsieur,’ said the Sacristan, with a polite motion of his hand towards the little door, as if introducing somebody—‘The Angel Gabriel!’



A description coming up doesn't exactly make me want to visit this particularly:

The way lay through the main streets, but not through the Strada Nuova, or the Strada Balbi, which are the famous streets of palaces. I never in my life was so dismayed! The wonderful novelty of everything, the unusual smells, the unaccountable filth (though it is reckoned the cleanest of Italian towns), the disorderly jumbling of dirty houses, one upon the roof of another; the passages more squalid and more close than any in St. Giles’s or old Paris; in and out of which, not vagabonds, but well-dressed women, with white veils and great fans, were passing and repassing; the perfect absence of resemblance in any dwelling-house, or shop, or wall, or post, or pillar, to anything one had ever seen before; and the disheartening dirt, discomfort, and decay; perfectly confounded me. I fell into a dismal reverie. I am conscious of a feverish and bewildered vision of saints and virgins’ shrines at the street corners—of great numbers of friars, monks, and soldiers—of vast red curtains, waving in the doorways of the churches—of always going up hill, and yet seeing every other street and passage going higher up—of fruit-stalls, with fresh lemons and oranges hanging in garlands made of vine-leaves—of a guard-house, and a drawbridge—and some gateways—and vendors of iced water, sitting with little trays upon the margin of the kennel—and this is all the consciousness I had, until I was set down in a rank, dull, weedy court-yard, attached to a kind of pink jail; and was told I lived there.

How would that look in a travelogue? Then there is this:

The view, as I have said, is charming; but in the day you must keep the lattice-blinds close shut, or the sun would drive you mad; and when the sun goes down you must shut up all the windows, or the mosquitoes would tempt you to commit suicide. So at this time of the year, you don’t see much of the prospect within doors. As for the flies, you don’t mind them. Nor the fleas, whose size is prodigious, and whose name is Legion, and who populate the coach-house to that extent that I daily expect to see the carriage going off bodily, drawn by myriads of industrious fleas in harness. The rats are kept away, quite comfortably, by scores of lean cats, who roam about the garden for that purpose. The lizards, of course, nobody cares for; they play in the sun, and don’t bite. The little scorpions are merely curious. The beetles are rather late, and have not appeared yet. The frogs are company. There is a preserve of them in the grounds of the next villa; and after nightfall, one would think that scores upon scores of women in pattens were going up and down a wet stone pavement without a moment’s cessation. That is exactly the noise they make.



Nothing would make me go to this place. If Dickens was writing a book of places we should not visit it's working. Then they get to Genoa:

The streets of Genoa would be all the better for the importation of a few Priests of prepossessing appearance. Every fourth or fifth man in the streets is a Priest or a Monk; and there is pretty sure to be at least one itinerant ecclesiastic inside or outside every hackney carriage on the neighbouring roads. I have no knowledge, elsewhere, of more repulsive countenances than are to be found among these gentry. If Nature’s handwriting be at all legible, greater varieties of sloth, deceit, and intellectual torpor, could hardly be observed among any class of men in the world.



In some of the narrow passages, distinct trades congregate. There is a street of jewellers, and there is a row of booksellers; but even down in places where nobody ever can, or ever could, penetrate in a carriage, there are mighty old palaces shut in among the gloomiest and closest walls, and almost shut out from the sun. Very few of the tradesmen have any idea of setting forth their goods, or disposing them for show. If you, a stranger, want to buy anything, you usually look round the shop till you see it; then clutch it, if it be within reach, and inquire how much. Everything is sold at the most unlikely place. If you want coffee, you go to a sweetmeat shop; and if you want meat, you will probably find it behind an old checked curtain, down half-a-dozen steps, in some sequestered nook as hard to find as if the commodity were poison, and Genoa’s law were death to any that uttered it.

I find Dickens delightful. I will never stop reading his books over and over again. But I will stop reviewing this one, I want you to go read it for yourselves to see how the rest of the trip went.

[Donna · Rating 1 out of 5]

Not a Dickens Classic

This was a tedious read. Some parts were interesting because I’ve been there but overall I found it very hard to get through.