rom one end to
the other with as much agitation as regularity. He never fails to set
out at the beginning of a phrase and to return at the end, like the
motion of a pendulum; nevertheless he uses so much action, and his
manner is so vehement, that one would suppose him capable of forgetting
everything. But it is, to use the expression, a kind of systematic fury
that animates the orator, such as is frequently to be met with in Italy,
where the vivacity of external action often indicates no more than a
superficial emotion. A crucifix is suspended at the extremity of the
pulpit; the preacher unties it, kisses it, presses it against his heart,
and then restores it to its place with the greatest coolness, when the
pathetic period is concluded. There is a means of producing effect which
the ordinary preachers frequently have recourse to, namely, the square
cap they wear on their head, which they take off, and put on again with
inconceivable rapidity. One of them imputed to Voltaire, and
particularly to Rousseau, the irreligion of the age. He threw his cap
into the middle of the pulpit, charging it to represent Jean Jacques,
and in this quality he harangued it, saying; "_Well, philosopher of
Geneva, what have you to object to my arguments_?" He was silent for
some minutes as if he waited for a reply--the cap made no answer: he
then put it upon his head again and finished the conversation in these
words: "_now that you are convinced I shall say no more_."

These whimsical scenes are often repeated among the Roman preachers; for
real talent in this department is here very scarce. Religion is
respected in Italy as an omnipotent law; it captivates the imagination
by its forms and ceremonies, but moral tenets are less attended to in
the pulpit than dogmas of faith, which do not penetrate the heart with
religious sentiments. Thus the eloquence of the pulpit, as well as
several other branches of literature, is absolutely abandoned to common
ideas, which neither paint nor express any thing. A new thought would
cause almost a panic in those minds at once so indolent and so full of
ardour that they need the calm of uniformity, which they love because it
offers repose to their thoughts. The ideas and phraseology of their
sermons are confined to a sort of etiquette. They follow almost in a
regular sequence, and this order would be disturbed if the orator,
speaking from himself, were to seek in his own mind what he should say.
The Christia