I could add a multitude of facts, conjectures, and reflections, to those which I have adduced; but it is time to conclude this Introduction, already of too great length. Whoever will examine with candour the reasons advanced in this Memoir, must admit, that if any thing on earth has been demonstrated, it is the authenticity of the christian traditions concerning Jerusalem.

TRAVELS

IN

GREECE, PALESTINE, EGYPT,

BARBARY,

&c.

First Part.

GREECE.

To the principal motive which impelled me after so many peregrinations to leave France once more, were added other considerations. A voyage to the East would complete the circle of studies which I had always promised myself to accomplish. In the deserts of America I had contemplated the monuments of Nature; among the monuments of man, I was yet acquainted with only two species of antiquities, the Celtic and the Roman: I had still to visit the ruins of Athens, of Memphis, and of Carthage. I was therefore solicitous to perform a pilgrimage to Jerusalem:

Qui devoto

Il grand-sepolcro adora, e scioglie il voto.

At the present day it may appear somewhat strange to talk of vows and pilgrimages; but in regard to this subject I have no sense of shame, and have long ranged myself in the class of the weak and superstitious. Probably I shall be the last Frenchman that will ever quit his country to travel to the Holy Land, with the idea, the object, and the sentiments of an ancient pilgrim. But if I have not the virtues which shone of yore in the Sires de Coucy, de Nesle, de Castillon, de Montfort, faith at least is left me; and by this mark I might yet be recognized by the ancient crusaders.

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"And when I was about to depart and commence my journey," says the Sire de Joinville, “I sent for the Abbé de Cheminon to reconcile myself with him. And I girded myself with my scarf, and took my staff in my hand, and presently I set out from Joinville without ever entering the castle afterwards, till my return from the voyage beyond sea.---And so as I went from Bleicourt to Saint Urban, when I was obliged to pass near the castle of Joinville, I durst not turn my face that way lest I should feel too great regret, and my heart should be too strongly affected."

On quitting my country again, the 13th July, 1806, I was not afraid to turn my head like the Seneschal of Champagne; almost a stranger in my native land, I left behind me neither castle nor cottage.

From Paris to Milan the route was not new to me at Milan I took the road to Venice: all

around the country appeared nearly like the Milanese, one dull but fertile morass. I gave a few moments to the monuments of Verona, Vicenza, and Padua. On the 23rd, I arrived at Venice, and spent five days in examining the remains of its former grandeur. I was shewn some good pictures by Tintoret, Paul Veronese and his brother Bassano, and Titian. I sought in a deserted church the tomb of the latter, and had some difficulty to find it, as I had once before at Rome to discover the sepulchre of Tasso. After all, the ashes of a religious and unfortunate poet are not very much out of their place in an hermitage. The bard of Jerusalem seems to have sought a last asylum in this obscure spot, to escape the persecu tions of men: he fills the world with his fame, and himself reposes unknown, beneath the orangetree of St. Onuphrius.

I left Venice on the 28th, and at ten at night embarked for terra firma. We had a breeze from the south-east sufficient to fill the sail, but not to ruffle the sea. As the vessel proceeded, I beheld the lights of Venice sink into the horizon; and distinguished, like spots upon the surface of the deep, the shadows of the different islands scattered along the coast. These islands, instead of being covered with forts and bastions, are occupied by churches and monasteries. The sound of the clocks belonging to the hospitals and lazarets reached our ears, and excited no ideas but those of tranquillity and succour, in the midst of the empire of

storms and dangers. We approached so near to one of these retreats as to perceive the monks watching our gondola as it passed: they looked like old mariners, who, after long peregrinations, have returned to port. Perhaps they gave their benediction to the voyager, recollecting, that like him, they had themselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.

I reached the main land before day-break, and took a post-chaise to carry me to Trieste. I turned not out of my road to visit Aquileia: I felt no temptation to examine the breach by which the Goths and Huns penetrated into the native country of Horace and Virgil, or to seek the traces of those armies which were the instruments of the wrath of the Almighty. On the 29th, at noon, I entered Trieste. The city is regularly built, and seated in a very fine climate, at the foot of a chain of sterile mountains: it contains no monument of antiquity. The last breeze of Italy expires on this shore, for here the empire of barbarism com

mences.

M. Seguier, the French consul at Trieste, had the kindness to undertake to procure me a passage. He met with a ship ready to sail for Smyrna, the captain of which took me on board with my attendant. It was agreed that he should set me on shore as he passed on the coast of the Morea; that I should proceed by land across the Peloponnesus; that the vessel should wait for me some days at the Cape of Attica; and that, if at the expiration of