n came and asked him
some questions while I was there in a language that was quite
strange to me, and when I asked Mezzofanti what it was, he said
Bolognese, and that, though not harmonious, it was forcible and
expressive. Afterwards to the gallery, which contains the finest
pictures in Italy, though only a few: the Guidos and Domenichinos
are splendid. I think Domenichino the finest painter that ever
existed.

June 15th, 1830 {p.404}

Dined yesterday with Madame de Marescalchi, who lives in a great
palace, looking dirty and uncomfortable, except one or two rooms
which they occupy. There is a gallery of pictures, all of which
are for sale. Seven or eight Italians came to dinner, whose names
I never discovered. After dinner she took me to the Certosa, to
see the Campo Santo, which is a remarkably pretty spot, and the
dead appear to be more agreeably lodged at Bologna than the
living. I had much rather die here than live here. It is very
unlike the Campo Santo at Pisa, entirely modern, and looks
exceedingly cheerful. Guido's skull is kept here.

Went again to the gallery, and the Zambeccari Palace, where there
are a few good pictures, but not many. All the pictures in all
the palaces are for sale.

[Page Head: FERRARA]

_In the ferry, crossing the Po_ (i.e. written in the
ferry).--Called on Madame de Marescalchi to take leave. Set off
at half-past one, and in clouds of dust arrived at Ferrara. It is
curious to see this town, so large, deserted, and melancholy. A
pestilence might have swept over it, for there seems no life in
it, and hardly a soul is to be seen in the streets. It is eight
and a half miles round, and contains 24,000 inhabitants, of which
3,000 are Jews, and their quarter is the only part of the town
which seems alive. They are, as usual, crammed into a corner,
five streets being allotted to them, at each end of which is a
gate that is closed at nine o'clock, when the Jews are shut in
for the night. The houses are filthy, stinking, and out of
repair. The Corso is like a street in an English town, broad,
long, the houses low, and with a _trottoir_ on both sides. The
Castle, surrounded by a moat, stands in the middle of the town, a
gloomy place. In it lives the Cardinal Legate. I went to see the
dungeon in which Tasso was confined; and the library, where they
show Ariosto's chair and inkstand, a medal found upon his body
when his tomb was opened, two books of his manuscript poetry;
also the manuscr