A delight to recall our months in Italy, in 2016 and 1844 respectively. So much is the same, and evoked beautifully, and also so much changed for the better. In his concluding observation, Mr. Dickenson writes: "And let us not remember Italy the less regardfully, because, in every fragment of her fallen Temples, and every stone of her deserted palaces and prisons, she helps to inculcate the lesson that the wheel of Time is rolling for an end, and that the world is, in all great essentials, better, gentler, more forbearing, and more hopeful, as it rolls!"

Dickens visits Italy, and we go along for the vicarious trip. Dickens can be biting when he doesn't like some cities in Italy (dirty, overcrowded, overwhelming with beggars, etc), or for things like church rituals that are uncommon to him and so appear not terribly 'religious'. His heart aches when seeing holes and dungeons where people have been callously thrown, tortured, buried, or any other horrific means to hasten their life's end. Ditto his unsettling account of a public beheading, where people gathered early on, jostling for room to see 'the entertainment'. He was drawn to the Coliseum, day after day, and his trip up and down Vesuvius was quite dramatic. A very interesting read.

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.

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]

http://librivox.org/pictures-from-ita...

'Pictures from Italy' is Dickens' travel log while on break from his usual, published, fiction writing. He decided to take a year off and explore Italy, by way of France and Switzerland, which each chapter describing a different region.

In particular, Liguria spoke to me, as it also did in real life! "There is nothing in Italy,t more beautiful to me, than the coast-road between Genoa and Spezzia. On one side: sometimes far below, sometimes nearly on a level with the road, and often skirted by broken rocks of many shapes: there is the free blue sea, with here and there a picturesque felucca gliding slowly on; on the other side are lofty hills, ravines besprinkled with white cottages, patches of dark olive woods, country churches with their light open towers, and country houses gaily painted."

But as you may have noticed here, the book is essentially, 'pictures'. It doesn't go far beyond the image, there is no experience, history or culture, and while I knew the title, I also imagined a travel journal containing more of what this travel meant to Dickens. I get no sense of what he learned, how he grew, what unique things he lived in Italy. The walk through the novel is purely description-based, and these descriptions target bigger land or cityscapes, rather than specific sites or buildings. This makes it feel somewhat unanchored, blending the regions into each other rather than managing to give them a unique personality, particularly with smaller towns that may not be home to wonders of the world like the Tower of Pisa or the Coliseum.

Overall, while it was a pleasant read, it didn't feel special, and in fact went borderline generic and superficial. I also think it had too many theatrics, exclamations, and even some imitations of what a carriage on road might sound like which was a bit too silly and misplaced. I can't help but think that Dickens only glanced, without seeing and feeling the whole spirit of Italy. The only sense that is employed here is sight, and that is such a shame.

Note: If you're reading this Penguin Classics edition please skip the intro. It literally just picks some quotes and binds them with filler words, it will add nothing to your knowledge and context.

I found this book difficult mainly because of Mr Dickens strong opinions on the practices of the Roman Catholic Church in Italy. He is so prejudiced against their practices, even when it has no offence to anyone interferes with any pleasure the text might offer.

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.

Loving Travel and having lived in southern Italy when I was young (many years ago) I am enjoying what I have read so far. I didn't know Charles Dickens had written anything like this. That fact alone makes it interesting for me. This was a free eBook.

Charles Dickens Pictures from Italy

'When Dickens has described something you see it for the rest of your life'
George Orwell

Pictures from Italy is a travelogue by Charles Dickens. The book reveals the concerns of its author as he presents, according to Kate Flint, the country "like a chaotic magic-lantern show, fascinated both by the spectacle it offers, and by himself as spectator".

In 1844, Charles Dickens took a break from novel writing to travel through France and Italy with his family for almost a year, and Pictures from Italy is an illuminating account of his experiences there. A delightful travelogue in the unique style of one of the greatest writers in the English language. He presents the country like a magic-lantern show, as vivid images ceaselessly appear before his - and his readers' - eyes. Italy's most famous sights are all to be found here - St Peter's in Rome, Naples with Vesuvius smouldering in the background, the fairy-tale buildings and canals of Venice - but Dickens's chronicle is not simply that of a tourist. Avoiding preconceptions and stereotypes, he portrays a nation of great contrasts: between grandiose buildings and squalid poverty, and between past and present, as he observes everyday life beside ancient monuments. Combining thrilling travelogue with piercing social commentary, Pictures from Italy is a revealing depiction of an exciting and disquieting journey. In her introduction, Kate Flint discusses nineteenth-century travel writing, and Dickens's ideas about perception, memory and Italian politics.
But it is his encounters with Italy's colourful street life that capture the imagination. Dickens is particularly drawn to the costumes, cross-dressing, and sheer exuberance of the Roman carnival. From the book we learn that Dickens was an early riser and walker, and that he enjoyed touring the major attractions on foot.

Charles Dickens is one of the best-loved novelists in the English language, whose 200th anniversary was celebrated in 2012. His most famous books, including Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield and The Pickwick Papers, have been adapted for stage and screen and read by millions.

Traveling to Rome myself this summer I took some Roman quotes from Dickens’ travelogue to get in the mood:

Immediately on going out next day, we hurried off to St. Pieter’s. It looked immense in the distance (…) The beauty of the Piazza on which it stands, with its clusters of exquisite columns, and its gushing fountains – so fresh, so broad, and free, and beautiful – nothing can exaggerate.

(…) looking up into the Dome: is a sensation never to be forgotten.

Never in its bloodiest prime can the sight of gigantic Coliseum, full and running over with the lustiest life, have moved one’s heart, as it must move all who look up it now, a ruin. God be thanked a ruin!

But, when the night came on, without a cloud to dim the full moon, what a sight it was to see the great Square full once more, and the whole church, from the cross to the ground, lighted with innumerable lanterns, tracing out the architecture, and winkling and shining all round the colonnade of the piazza.

The next night - Easter Monday – there was a great display of fireworks from the Castel of St. Angelo.

Charles Dickens is one of my favourite writers of all time - this is his very curious account of his travels through Italy. His prose, as with his novels, is entertaining and slightly ironic at times. He paints a portrait of the people, the landscapes, and the incidents surrounding his journey - not always beautiful, but always beautifully put.

Charles Dickens ranting about poverty is always a good read. Also interesting to see how they travelled around Italy - but it really is only a travel book. It’s more fun reading the novels