f
monks I know at Genoa, in all the lame parts of strong paintings: so I
have settled with myself that in such cases the lameness was not with
the painter, but with the vanity and ignorance of his employers, who
_would_ be apostles on canvas at all events."[92]

In the same letter he described the Inns. "It is a great thing--quite a
matter of course--with English travellers, to decry the Italian inns. Of
course you have no comforts that you are used to in England; and
travelling alone, you dine in your bedroom always. Which is opposed to
our habits. But they are immeasurably better than you would suppose. The
attendants are very quick; very punctual; and so obliging, if you speak
to them politely, that you would be a beast not to look cheerful, and
take everything pleasantly. I am writing this in a room like a room on
the two-pair front of an unfinished house in Eaton-square: the very
walls make me feel as if I were a bricklayer distinguished by Mr. Cubitt
with the favour of having it to take care of. The windows won't open,
and the doors won't shut; and these latter (a cat could get in, between
them and the floor) have a windy command of a colonnade which is open to
the night, so that my slippers positively blow off my feet, and make
little circuits in the room--like leaves. There is a very ashy
wood-fire, burning on an immense hearth which has no fender (there is no
such thing in Italy); and it only knows two extremes--an agony of heat
when wood is put on, and an agony of cold when it has been on two
minutes. There is also an uncomfortable stain in the wall, where the
fifth door (not being strictly indispensable) was walled up a year or
two ago, and never painted over. But the bed is clean; and I have had an
excellent dinner; and without being obsequious or servile, which is not
at all the characteristic of the people in the North of Italy, the
waiters are so amiably disposed to invent little attentions which they
suppose to be English, and are so lighthearted and goodnatured, that it
is a pleasure to have to do with them. But so it is with all the people.
Vetturino-travelling involves a stoppage of two hours in the middle of
the day, to bait the horses. At that time I always walk on. If there are
many turns in the road, I necessarily have to ask my way, very often:
and the men are such gentlemen, and the women such ladies, that it is
quite an interchange of courtesies."

Of the help his courier continued to be to hi