Chapter XI: Part 11

The day continued fine throughout, but heavy rain fell through the night, and the next morning was very cold. We drove about for two hours to see the town; but it became so cold, wet, and windy, that we had to give up further visiting for that day. Among other places we visited Santa Maria de Carignano, a great church, built by the munificence of a single Genoese citizen, which crests the eastern height overlooking the town; and from the terrace on the top of it there are magnificent views of the entire panorama—the harbour, the coast east and west, the city, and the mountains, which there lay, covered with a coating of snow, which no doubt had fallen through the night, and gave a very bleak appearance to the surroundings. I could gladly have remained up for a long time (the others had not ventured), but the cold was so great that I could only take a momentary glimpse. We had also from the opposite extremity of the town a different view, looking from the harbour near to the lighthouse upward to Genoa, rising in crescent form line above line from the basin of the port. The street itself, which surrounds the port, is for the most part noisy, bustling, and dirty—by no means, therefore, attractive. At some parts the passage is nearly blocked by loiterers, who may perhaps, by a stretch of charity, be supposed to be actively prosecuting some busy calling, just as may be seen on the street of a country town at home on a market day.

* * * * *

The following day was dry, but cold, and afforded an opportunity for going about a little on foot, and seeing some of the large churches and the streets of grand palaces for which Genoa is famous. These palaces (some of them now used for purposes other than those for which they were built) are principally situated in a line of streets, called the Vias Balbi, Nuova, and Nuovissima. Like those of many of the Italian towns, these vias are paved with large flat blocks of stone, neatly, closely, and uniformly laid. The palaces themselves are massive stone buildings of the elegant Italian style now so often adopted by our architects in designing banks and public offices, the walls generally in rustic work, and the cornices rich and heavily projecting, the large windows protected from assault by thick outside iron gratings and stanchions, imparting a very prison–like look. The palaces are lofty and handsomely built, and the entry is generally by a large gateway to an inner court, round which further buildings are placed. Wide handsome staircases, quite a marked feature, conduct to the upper floors. The streets which are lined by these palaces are so narrow that the elegance of design is greatly lost to the eye. On this the occasion of our first visit, we had only opportunity of seeing the Palazzo Brignole, which contains a fine collection of paintings by the great masters Vandyke, Guido Reni, and others. Among them we observed a particularly good St. Sebastian by Guido. In the following year we visited some additional palaces,—viz., first, the Palazzo Durazzo on the Via Balbi, a magnificent house with a much–noted staircase. Notwithstanding the family were then residing in this palace, we were shown through about a dozen rooms, in which the hangings were of superb elegance, and the walls richly adorned with pictures. Thence we went to the Palazzo Balbi, a fine mansion, but not equal to the Durazzo; and thence to the Palazzo Reale, one of those royal palaces which the King of Italy seldom visits, but which he nevertheless appears compelled to maintain. The rooms are beautiful, the queen’s bedroom particularly rich and dazzling. The facilities afforded for seeing these palaces, which no one going to Genoa should, if possible, omit to visit, are very commendable. A fee of 1 franc to the attendant is all that there, as elsewhere in Italy, is expected.

* * * * *

The churches of Genoa are, like all Italian churches, very dark and very dirty—purposely ill–lighted, no doubt, to produce a dim religious light, and dirty because it is part of an Italian’s religion in church to spit upon the floor and otherwise to consider that cleanliness is next to ungodliness. The Cathedral of San Lorenzo and the neighbouring Jesuit Church of San Ambrogio are large buildings, especially the cathedral, and possess fine altars, surmounted by show pictures, and otherwise are richly adorned. The Church of San Annunciata, on the way to the railway station, is profusely gilded.

* * * * *

In the afternoon we walked to the Aqua Sola, a public park, which is evidently a place of resort of the Genoese gentry. Being a winter day, there were not many going about; but we saw a number of handsome equipages with Italian horses, their long flowing tails touching the ground. A very curious kind of curricle, such as we saw nowhere else, was constructed with high wheels, and seated, like a country mail cart, for one person only. This was drawn by one horse at full speed, and between two of them a race was run round and round the park. We had seen a good many of the women walking about town, having a mantilla or veil depending from the head—a graceful Genoese fashion, although one would hardly think it could afford much protection from either cold or heat. But here, for the first time, we saw some of the grand Italian nurses, who are generally dressed in a most peculiar and magnificent attire, their hair fantastically decked with large pins, very gorgeous to behold. There were evident degrees of magnificence, dependent, I suppose, to some extent upon the condition of the family in whose service the nurses were. The children also in their charge were attired in costumes more or less brilliant and rich, everything in Genoa being, I presume, from a palace to a hair–pin, necessarily ‘superb.’

* * * * *

Next morning we resolved to proceed to Spezia, but before going, drove out to the famous Campo Santo. It is situated about a mile and a half out of town, and the road to it is by no means choice; but the place itself is remarkable. The cemetery covers a good many acres of ground, and, judging from the inscriptions on the tombs, is little more than a quarter of a century old; but the mode in which it is laid out is peculiarly Italian. It was the first of the kind I had seen. We subsequently visited others in different parts of Italy; but there was not one which could be compared, for combined grandeur and tasteful, refined elegance, with that of Genoa. The main portion of the grounds is laid out in a large square, enclosing a piece of open ground, probably, speaking roughly and from recollection, six or eight acres in extent. This open ground apparently is used for the more common burials, and is in no way extraordinary, except for the contrast it affords to the enclosed portions. The monuments, thickly planted in it, are of the paltry, frippery kind,—little tumble–down, uneasy–looking crosses, gewgaw wirework, top–heavy miniature lanterns pending from poles agee,—mingled with tawdry remains of immortelles and withered flowers, so commonly seen in Roman Catholic grounds abroad, though, to do the Genoa burying–ground justice, it is much more tidy in this respect than is customary. A colossal statue of the Virgin stands in the centre of the open space. Round three sides of this ground (besides the fourth regarding which anon) there have been built, in white marble,—of which material there are quarries in the neighbourhood of Genoa,—two long, parallel, spacious enclosures or vaults. In the outer of these vaults, monumental tablets are ranged down the side walls row above row in great uniformity, recording the names (with usual dates) of the deceased persons who have been, or are presumed to have been, buried in cells of which these are the outer ends or sides. The tablets are all of white polished marble, and black lettered. There is nothing particularly striking about this part except its extent and, to our eyes, novelty. But the inner aisle or arcade and all the corners or prominent parts are devoted to statues and figures, and sometimes representations in _alto relievo_—all cut out of white marble, and erected in memory of the more eminent or more opulent citizens of Genoa, or members of their families, who are buried there. The monuments evidence possession not merely of the beautiful material out of which they are produced, but of great natural capability on the part of the Italian sculptors, and of a taste on the part of the public, either natural or educated, in that direction. Without according indiscriminate admiration, one may say that there was scarcely a piece of sculpture of which our best artists at home could reasonably be ashamed. On the one side of each arcade the memorials are, for the most part, mural; on the other, which opens by arches to the Campo, the principal monuments are placed one under each arch. The general character of the mural monuments is stately repose, some exceptionally being in action. But under the arches, between the supporting columns, the figures are often in startling resemblance to life. For example, one group is of a lady sitting up in bed, with an earnest fascinating or fascinated look, grasping the right hand of another in a long garment, loose from the neck to the feet, whose left arm and forefinger of the hand are pointing upward. In another, a charming female figure appears soaring with an angel upward resting on clouds, the group being pervaded, like so many more, by a marvellous grace and freedom of execution. Another is a mother with a babe in each arm. But it would be endless to describe them, the more especially as to do so effectively one would require to make each monument a special study—not to be recommended, because the vaults are cold, and it is not safe to linger in them. Only the west of the three sides of the quadrangle, and part of the south side, were then so occupied.

The fourth side of the square lies upon the slope of a hill, and advantage has been taken of this natural feature of the ground for the formation of terraces, in the centre of which, at the top of a magnificent flight of marble steps, a large circular church of white marble has been built, upon entering which we look upon a majestic row of black marble pillars, standing in a stately circle round vacancy as yet. When we saw it last, the church was not completed, and evidently would not be for a long time to come, for no expense seems to be spared to render it in every respect the grand complement of its beautiful surroundings. Upon the arcaded terraces, stretching away right and left from the church, we found some of the choicest groups of sculpture in the whole place. They are large and costly, and harmoniously graceful embellishments of the symmetrical structure. Behind these arcades, vaults have been built akin to those on the other three sides; while beyond, to the north, open ground on the hill–slope has been laid out for interments,—as yet sparsely dotted by monuments.

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A burial–place such as this would at home cost such an enormous amount of money as practically to remove from our thoughts the possibility of erecting it. I presume it is only possible in Italy from the circumstance that the sculptor’s occupation is more common, and is less handsomely remunerated; but much also is due to the proximity of the material, and to an appreciation on the part of the public of the forms of high art. In regarding this wonderful enclosure, a mingled feeling will in many minds arise; for its solemn impressiveness, its silent grandeur, its touching monuments and bas–reliefs, its very unadorned inscriptions, carry us away in thought and sympathy to sad scenes of death and sorrow; while the brightness and purity, and the exquisite forms and seraphic tranquillity of the sculptured white marble, point to that beatific life beyond the tomb, where all is bright and pure and exceeding lovely—where the spirits of just men made perfect, in serene, undisturbed calm, dwell for ever in the rapture of heavenly joy, and, arrayed in the beauty of holiness, are surpassing glad amidst the burning thrill of boundless love and the celestial beams of ineffable glory, and the sweet music of angel song—for, they stand in the presence of GOD.

XI.

_SPEZIA, PISA, SIENNA._

WE had to hurry away from the Campo Santo to get money changed, prepare for travelling, and be in time for the train at half–past one. When we reached the hotel, we found there were about forty leaving by the same train. We were therefore advised to take the first omnibus, but it involved waiting an hour in the cold _salle–d’attente_ at the station. I had taken at Nice, Cook’s tickets from Genoa to Rome, with a potentiality of stopping at three places by the way; so that all I had to do was to get the tickets marked for Spezia, our first stoppage, and stamped for the commencement of the journey, and to get luggage weighed and paid for. The trouble saved by taking these tickets was, I found, so insignificant that I never afterwards procured them.

* * * * *

The railway journey (57 miles) from Genoa to Spezia is very tantalizing. It takes three hours, including stoppages, and in that time we passed through thirty–eight tunnels. The line is close to the sea, and the views or peeps throughout of ocean, rock, and village are lovely and picturesque, the many small coast towns by the way being brightly Italian in their character. We had scarcely time, however, to enjoy any scene when the view was suddenly cut off by a long tunnel, the same thing to happen time after time provokingly. It is said that the tunnels, which must have rendered the railway a very costly undertaking, are giving way, and that the line may require to be abandoned. Be this as it may, to those who would enjoy the scenery, nothing could be more charming than to drive, in warm enough weather, by carriage along the Riviera di Levante, the scenes by road being considered to equal those of the Riviera di Ponente. Some towns, such as Nervi, in sheltered situations on the route, are used to some extent as winter resorts, although comfortable accommodation is difficult to procure. Even with all the disadvantages attendant upon travelling by railway, we were greatly delighted with our journey, the pleasure being much aided, no doubt, by the brilliant sunshine of the day. And here I may just observe, that, notwithstanding the drawback of travelling by rail and passing through so many tunnels, travellers of the present day are greatly better off than those of only a few years back, when, in consequence of the expense and insecurity of proceeding by road, most people went by sea from Marseilles to Naples, touching at Genoa and Civita Vecchia by the way. Splendid general views, doubtless, they sometimes in day–time had; but not only did the vessels keep too far out of sight of land to permit of close observation of the lovely coast, but the voyages appear generally to have been made in great part by night.

SPEZIA.

Spezia, on arrival, appeared beauteous, and, though a tolerably large town, quite rural after Genoa. We drove to a large new hotel, the Croce di Malta, the omnibus entering the hall of the hotel itself, which we found to be spacious, with long flights of stairs and lofty ceilings, and profusion of white marble,—in fact, the use of marble for some purposes might well enough have been dispensed with. However, Spezia is a summer and not a winter place, and these cool appearances must be very grateful to the summer visitors. The Genoese largely resort to it in summer months, and I suppose the sea–bathing obtained at its beach is excellent. During our visit the weather was intensely cold, and we had the utmost difficulty in heating our lofty rooms with fires of a soft wood which rapidly burnt down. But what was thus a source of discomfort, added a charming effect to the landscape. Snow had fallen, and the Carrara Mountains (some of them between 5000 and 6000 feet high), which are seen from Spezia, lying to the south, were covered with a mantle whiter, perhaps, than the white marble they contain, ranges of hills and mountains of a lower height in their own green clothing lying between. Add to this fine effect the splendid harbour to which nature has so much contributed, containing the great arsenal of Italy, and the bay filled with large men–of–war, at one time riding at anchor, at another steaming about in order to exercise their crews, the handsome many–storied ranges of buildings fronting the shore, and behind them the town with a ruined castle on a height, and rising directly in the north a huge protecting wall of high mountains, and the panoramic picture is complete. A London artist who was there at the time (Mr. Pilleau), and whom we afterwards met at almost every place which we visited in Italy, made a drawing in colours of the scene, with the Carrara Mountains in the background; and I do not think that there was among all his Italian drawings, which he subsequently kindly showed us, one which had a finer pictorial effect.

* * * * *

We arrived on the Saturday. English service was held in a room of the hotel on the Sunday, and was well attended in the forenoon; but, in accordance with a too common laxity of practice, few attended in the afternoon. The Monday was a warmer day, and we enjoyed a ramble and ascended the hill lying to the back of the town, from which we had a grand view of the Gulf of Spezia, which is a tongue of sea running up northward from the Mediterranean, and studded by islands at the entrance. A delightful drive may be had to Porto Venere (more charming when leaves are out), but we did not feel it sufficiently warm to hazard the exposure.

It would undoubtedly have been a gratification to have seen the arsenal and the large 100–ton gun, but we were informed that it was necessary to obtain from Rome a permission to see them, and this difficulty put it beyond our power.

* * * * *

We remained three nights at Spezia, and on Tuesday morning left for Pisa, the weather having again become raw and cold.

The journey to Pisa occupied about four hours. We passed many interesting places, and among others the Carrara quarries. Immense quantities of the white marble, quarried from the hills adjoining the railway, lay at the stations ready for transport. The quarrying of this famous marble, the purer quality of which is of close grain (the fine statuary marble), is a source of employment to a vast number of workmen. When the traveller has time to spare, it is no doubt worth stopping a few hours between trains to visit the place. At last we arrived in sight of Pisa, and as we entered the town got a glimpse from the carriage windows of the buildings which have made it celebrated.

PISA.

The weather was cold, and lunch hardly helped to warm us, so we speedily set out to get a brisk walk and see the lions. We had hardly emerged from the door of the Hotel de Londres when we were waylaid by one of the loitering guides. We could not shake him off, and engaged him at 3 francs. He proved of little use beyond taking us the most direct route to the objects in view by a handsome bridge over the Arno, which is probably from 300 to 400 feet wide; but it was then in full flood, the snow melting on the mountains bringing down much water. Proceeding up a long street, we came at the end of it, on the outskirts of the town, to the Piazza del Duomo, where are congregated all that may be said to make Pisa famous in the world—its cathedral, its baptistery, its Campo Santo, and its leaning tower. Here we stood face to face with what had been familiar to me through pictures from boyhood as ‘the seventh wonder of the world.’ Whether it be the seventh or the seventieth wonder of the world, I don’t know, but it was with a strange feeling I thus for the first time saw the reality. The day was too cold to venture the ascent to the top, from which there is an extensive view. Controversy exists as to whether the fact of the inclination is due to design or to subsidence of the ground. I think the latter is the real or more likely cause, the more especially as to all appearance the baptistery also is off the vertical. The bell tower or Campanile (178 feet high) is one of those detached belfries not uncommon in Italy, and of which few specimens occur in England. A rather uneasy feeling is produced in hearing the bells ring, and thinking of the vibration to which doubtless the motion subjects a building which seems as if ready of itself to topple over. We were glad to take refuge from the cold in the cathedral, constructed of marble, and eight hundred years old. Unfortunately, the sun being under cloud, we could not see it to the same advantage as if it had been a clear day. In length it exceeds 300 feet. The transept is over 250 feet. The interior, divided into aisles by double rows of columns, is a wonderful collection of enrichment of all kinds—pictures, statuary, carved marble, bronzes, articles in gold and silver, and finely–ornamented pulpits and altars. We afterwards saw many cathedrals and churches in Italy, but none to compare with this cathedral in its peculiar description of magnificence. St. Peter’s of Rome and St. Mark’s of Venice have their own distinguishing characteristics entitling them to the first rank, but the Cathedral of Pisa is just as much worthy of honour in its own line for what it contains.

* * * * *

From the cathedral we stepped across the piazza to the baptistery, where we were so fortunate as to witness two new–born unhappy infants undergoing the ceremony of baptism; which, indeed, was rather a serious ordeal, as the poor little things, not a day old, were well rubbed with oil, besides being sprinkled with water and tickled with salt.[28] The priest rattled through the service with great rapidity, the women uttering the responsive amen at apparently the right places with promptitude, as if quite accustomed to it. Before the priest came in, I asked one of the women what was to be the name. ‘Would you give it?’ was the reply. The building, thus detached from the church like the Campanile (of which other specimens occur in Italy), is circular, 100 feet in diameter, surmounted by a dome 190 feet high. It is an exquisite piece of workmanship, the font and pulpit being peculiarly rich; the sculpture outside is also good. Within the building there was a great ring of sound or hollow echo when the priest read the service.

* * * * *

Leaving the baptistery, we rung the bell at the door of the Campo Santo, and were admitted. It is small in size compared with that at Genoa, and of a very different description and interest. Its age is great, about seven hundred years having passed since it was founded. In shape it is a parallelogram, probably about 400 feet long by about 150 feet wide. The walls are covered with curious frescoes, some of which are getting indistinct. Round the enclosure and by the walls, under cover, many fine monuments in marble, old and new, mingled together, are disposed more like objects in a museum than as forming memorials in a place of sepulture. The interior court or burial–ground is said to have been made up of earth (fifty–three ship–loads) brought from Mount Calvary or some other place near Jerusalem.

* * * * *

In returning to town, we saw many shops filled attractively with Italian sculpture in alabaster and in Carrara marble. Alabaster, however, is soft, and is more liable to injury than marble, the groups in which material are much dearer, but at the same time fairly moderate compared with prices at home, although in computing price the risk and expense of carriage have to be added.

The town of Pisa is situated upon both sides of the Arno; the streets, wide and lined with high houses and other buildings, look tidy and clean; but about all there is a deserted look, although the population is stated at 50,000, and the place, which is a University town, is compactly built. It has a mild humid atmosphere, said, rightly or wrongly, to have curative properties for those affected with asthma. Centuries ago it was a leading commercial city, the great rival of Genoa, with which it was long at war, and to which it ultimately succumbed. Merchants had not at that time learnt that their true power and proper glory lies not in war but in commerce.

* * * * *

The next day was fine, with a bright sun to warm the air; and we took advantage of it to drive to Lucca, said in guide–books to be fifteen miles distant by rail: by road it seemed little more than ten. Calculating according to Bædeker, we should only have had, by time occupied (six hours), to pay 6 francs for the carriage; but the driver asked 15 francs, and agreed to go for 12½ which we were informed was ample fare. On return he wished us to go by some other route, and if we had agreed, it would, we were told, have enabled him to make his own terms at the end of the drive. The road to Lucca is well–formed, hard, and level, and would therefore seem to have been one of the old Roman roads, the more especially as it lies between what were two ancient Roman cities. It was a most delightful drive through many picturesque valleys, and through a mountainous country, and it would have been more so two months later. At this time the trees were bare. On the way, near Ripafrata, a bold, steep rock rises like an island from the plain, crowned by a small Italian town, which our driver named Lugliano—a very striking object, especially with the snow–capped Apennines peering in the background over the nearer hills, quite an artist’s study,—and of which, stopping the carriage for a few minutes, I made a rapid sketch. As a characteristic specimen of ‘a city set upon a hill,’ of which we afterwards saw so many in Italy, the drawing is given in illustration. Lucca is a fortified town, in regular wall and ditch formation, three miles in circuit, and there is a good deal to see in it. We visited the cathedral, and walked round a portion of the ramparts, from which views are had towards the mountains which surround Lucca.

* * * * *

There are two routes from Pisa to Rome—one by Leghorn and the coast, which would have obliged us either to stop the night at the uninviting town of Civita Vecchia, or to have arrived at Rome late in the evening. We chose the other route by Sienna. To go by Sienna, the traveller proceeds eastward about half–way along the railway to Florence, and changes carriages at Empoli. From Empoli the railway strikes off southward to Sienna and Rome. Sienna stands high, being 1330 feet above the level of the sea, and is considered a place of summer residence for its coolness.

I was therefore somewhat apprehensive, considering the cold weather we had endured, lest it might be too cold. Although, however, it stands high above the level of the sea, it does not seem to be more than 200 feet above the level of the surrounding country, or of the railway, and we did not find it very cold. But a change had taken place in the weather, and it was again a fine cloudless day. Having decided to go by Sienna, we could not resist making another excursion to the cathedral before starting by the mid–day train, and were all but tempted to ascend the Campanile. But to an invalid it looked chilly outside, and the height deterring; and I being the only one who might have gone, the custodier could not take me alone, the rule, to guard against accidents or suicide, being that not less than three must make the ascent at a time. The cathedral looked much finer in the sunshine, and we could have lingered long examining it in detail, and would gladly have had there the wearisome time, well–nigh an hour, we were, according to Italian custom, required to spend in the _salle–d’attente_ of the railway. The journey from Pisa to Sienna, about seventy miles, is through a mountainous country, with some places of interest by the way, though our prospect was much contracted by reason of a passenger in the carriage who would draw down all the blinds on his side and read a book the whole way, till his wife, out of shame, seeing our disappointment, persuaded him to allow one of the three blinds on his side to be raised, there being no sun peering in even to justify an excuse, which, indeed, never was made. In four hours and twenty minutes we arrived at our destination.

SIENNA.

Sienna, resting on the top and brow of a hill, looks picturesque from below. The railway station lies in a hollow, and the road up to town is steep. We drove to the Grand Hotel, which, though not mentioned in Bædeker, unless its name has been changed, is in by far the best situation of any, its windows looking down upon the public park and across to the fort or citadel; while, to add to its attractions, it is kept by a worthy English landlady, and is consequently possessed of all English comforts. We had an hour to see the town before dinner, at which we enjoyed its famous Chiante wine presented in flasks.

* * * * *

The following morning, having engaged a guide from the hotel, we desired him to take us to the places of most interest. Accordingly, he led us through the long, narrow main street of Sienna, where there is scarcely room for two carriages to pass, and no footways, and all paved, according to Italian mode, with large flagstones. There are shops in this street, and, I think, nowhere else, but of a very inferior description. It terminates near the Collegio Tolomei, which we entered to see a large gallery of the old masters, including some good paintings, one especially by Perugino. From this we proceeded to the cathedral, which is built in alternate courses of black and white marble, the façade very richly ornamented. The interior, though highly adorned, is not so rich in works of art as the Cathedral of Pisa. The interior pavement, composed of marble mosaics, representing Old Testament scenes, had unfortunately been so much worn by the worshippers’ feet as to require to be boarded over for protection; but a part of the boarding is removed, to allow the visitor to see a portion as a specimen. We were shown into the library, which is surrounded by huge illuminated tombs, some of which lie open for inspection. It is a great lofty hall, ornamented by sculpture and by large frescoes, executed by a fellow–pupil of Raphael, his great master having been said to have had a hand in the designs. These frescoes are very bright and perfect, and were among the best we saw anywhere in Italy. Leaving the cathedral, and just looking in at the baptistery below, we crossed over to the large open place called the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. Here a curious sight met our eyes. A dentist, who had been driving through the town in a carriage and four, with a band of music to congregate the people, stood on the box of the carriage among a crowd of people, and was gratuitously extracting their decayed teeth as fast as the unfortunates could pass up to him. The patient was seated, a moment’s inspection, the tooth (probably the right one, not impossibly occasionally the wrong one) was drawn and tossed into the air among the crowd; the person so operated on descended, relieved, on the other side, and in a twinkling another unhappy one took his place to be similarly treated. We understood that the operator was paid from some charitable source.

* * * * *

Several public buildings are situated in the Piazza, and among them the town or public hall, containing many frescoes and paintings, through which we were conducted. A very high, slender–looking tower or campanile rises from it, and is one of the most prominent objects in Sienna. Leaving the town–hall, we walked to the Instituto delle Belle Arti, which contains a collection of old paintings, particularly of the school of Sienna, principally interesting to the student; thence to the large Church of St. Domenico, where are various paintings, and among others, frescoes by Sodoma.

* * * * *

The places which we thus visited were among the principal in the town, and they showed that several days might profitably be spent by students and lovers of art at Sienna. Returning to the hotel to lunch, we afterwards crossed the esplanade or public park to the citadel, and enjoyed the views of the surrounding country from the battlements. The walls are high, with deep fosses. I think it was here for the first time we saw the Italian soldiery; and besides those stationed in the fort, there was a large force in barracks outside the walls, in front of which the soldiers were being drilled. The Italian soldier is of small stature, generally young or even boyish–looking, as if newly conscripted. The uniform—a curious mixture of hot and cold attire—is a blue cloth surtout, and white canvas trousers and gaiters, with a black–glazed, round, broad–brimmed hat, adorned with a bunch of cock’s feathers, and stuck upon the one side of the head—a most unmilitary and unbecoming head–gear. The undress, a cap covered with white canvas, is an improvement.

* * * * *

The following morning we left for Rome. There is not much of interest by the way, unless it be that the railway runs by the river Tiber more than half the journey; but as we approached our destination, we strained our eyes in eager longings to catch the first view of the glorious old place. Rome, however, is not imposing at a distance. Almost the only object which catches the eye is the dome of St. Peter’s. At length we passed slowly through the Campagna, skirted an ancient aqueduct and some other ruins, entered the walls of the fortifications, and in a modern railway station were deposited in the grand old Eternal City.

XII.

_ROME._

WE had about a month previously taken rooms in Madame Tellenbach’s Pension for the 15th of March, but at her suggestion, as the weather had been cold and wet, had given them up. We obtained quarters in the Hotel de Londres, on the opposite side of the Piazza di Spagna. This is a large open space, in what is considered to be the strangers’ quarter, and most of the principal hotels are in it, or in its neighbourhood. It is very necessary to be cautious where one sleeps in Rome, and we heard that cases of fever had happened even in some of what are considered the best hotels. It is said that it is not desirable to have rooms immediately under the Pincian Hill; while, oddly enough also, it is believed that the most healthy localities are those in which the houses and their inhabitants are most crowded, as in the Ghetto. I cannot vouch for either of these theories. After being two nights in the Hotel de Londres, we procured rooms in Madame Tellenbach’s. There are some advantages attaching to a house of this description in a place like Rome; principally because the people mingle more sociably together than in an hotel, arising, I suppose, from the lady of the house sitting at table and introducing her guests to each other. It is also less expensive than an hotel. It cost me from 4 to 5 francs per day for each of my party more at the hotel than at the pension, the difference necessarily being more or less according to circumstances, and especially according to the rooms taken in the one and in the other. But it must be admitted that there is a certain amount of additional comfort, tidiness, and appearance, which are usually obtained at an hotel, which a little judicious expenditure in a pension might secure. And for a short visit the hotel is, in any view, preferable.

Those who intend to spend the winter in Rome can, if they so desire, procure lodgings; and sometimes they can be obtained at a moderate rate. A friend had (winter 1878–79) for six months a suite of rooms (two public and three bed rooms) neatly furnished, in a good street near the Piazza di Spagna, for 320 francs per month, service included. The rooms, however, were on the fourth _piano_ or storey, and on a lower floor would have been greatly more. But in Rome, as in Italian towns generally, it is an advantage to be high up; and, indeed, one may toil up a long stair, as we have done, and find an excellent private dwelling on the top floor; for many of the houses in Rome resemble the ‘tenements’ or ‘lands’ so common in Scotland, divided into ‘flats,’—that is, a separate dwelling on each floor, and communicating with the street by a common stair.

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The Piazza di Spagna is a very convenient central position for all parts of Rome, and it is filled with carriages for hire—both landaus with two horses, and little carriages with one horse, principally the latter. None of the horses look very strong, but they go actively about. Carriage fares are moderate, a course in a one–horse carriage being 80 centimes, with 20 centimes extra for each passenger beyond two; nor is _buono mano_ (drink money) expected. Per hour, the charge is 1 franc 70 centimes for one horse, and 2 francs 20 centimes for two (scarcely 2s.). It is well that fares are so moderate, because Rome is a place where people are cautioned not to fatigue themselves by much walking.

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We were fortunate enough to get into good genial weather, with the exception of an occasional shower, and remained in Rome at this time for nine or ten days, when we went to Naples, and on our return spent about a fortnight longer. Both visits combined made but a short period in which to see all that is to be seen in Rome; but we did see (in a general way) a great deal in that time, which it would be impossible for me to describe fully in small compass. My object here is not to describe in detail, or to furnish the information which may be had in guide–books, or in more important works, and particularly in such books as Hare’s _Walks in Rome_, which is a most exhaustive guide to all that can be seen, or Sir George Head’s _Rome, A Tour of Many Days_, which, in three volumes, furnishes very full accounts of everything; it is simply to give a mere outline of some places we saw, so as to offer a general idea of them, and be as hints to those who visit the old city. Photographs and engravings have made all the important objects familiar to the eye.

Some people set about the seeing of sights in Rome in a very methodical, systematic manner, and so as to ensure their missing nothing, planning minutely each night what is to be done next day. This exhaustive method of ‘doing’ Rome is calculated rather to make a toil of a pleasure; but some degree of pre–arrangement is necessary, so as to economize time and to see as much as possible without weariness. Having decided where to go, we usually after breakfast engaged a carriage by the hour, or, if desirous of seeing a gallery of paintings or a palace, which would consume an hour, drove to the place, dismissed the cab, and on leaving took the first vacant one at the door. In the city itself there is no difficulty in at once procuring one anywhere. But in the outskirts they are not so easily found. This difficulty happened once to ourselves, on occasion of visiting St. John in Lateran. Having in view to see the church, museum, baptistery, Santa Scala, and other neighbouring places, which would take at least two hours, we unluckily dismissed our carriage, and when we left had to walk some distance before obtaining another to take us back to town.

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Our first day in Rome was a Sunday. We readily found the Presbyterian or Scotch church just outside the Porto del Popolo. It is a large, airy, nice place of worship. The climate of Rome, however, does not suit every one, and may produce weakness or develop what is latent. We met at Mentone, in the following winter, an esteemed Scotch clergyman, who ascribed debility to having in a previous year had three months’ duty in Rome. He had never, he said, been in good health since.

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Next morning we drove to St. Peter’s, which is generally the first object of attraction to the visitor. The way to it leads through narrow insignificant streets till the Ponte St. Angelo be reached. This bridge across the Tiber is decorated on each side parapet with five white marble statues, looking very black with exposure to the weather. The Tiber rolls below, yellow, muddy, and unalluring, and is in breadth between 300 and 400 feet, or about one–third the width of the Thames at Blackfriars Bridge.

The Castle of St. Angelo is one of those marked features of old Rome which engravings enable us at once to recognise. It was built by Hadrian as a mausoleum for himself and succeeding emperors, and the square base of this immense monument covered an acre and a half of ground. The round tower, which rises from the base, is now 188 feet in diameter; but it is stripped of its outer case of stone and white marble, and it no longer possesses what it is believed to have had, a dome 300 feet high, together with encircling statues. When built, it was no doubt a monument of the greatest magnificence; but its massive strength caused it to be for centuries occupied as a fort, and the successive sieges to which it has been subjected have brought about the destruction of all its adornment. Its history is to a large extent, since it was built, the history of the city of Rome, and may be seen set forth in Mr. Storey’s _Castle of St. Angelo_.

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Passing the castle on the right, the Tiber being on the left after crossing the bridge, the way lies along one of several narrow streets terminating in the great Piazza San Pietro, so that till the Piazza be reached St. Peter’s is obscured. It was not without emotion we arrived in view of this noble building, sending out from it on each side, like huge arms, imposing colonnades, consisting of no less than 284 columns each 64 feet high, which enclose so far the Piazza. The Egyptian obelisk brought to Rome by Caligula has been placed in the centre of the Piazza, attaining, with its pedestal, a height of 127 feet 6 inches, and yet dwarfed in presence of the great temple, the dome of which, however, is not well seen from the Piazza, or, indeed, from any place near. The obelisk is flanked on each side by a large and handsome fountain always playing, and in windy weather sending a shower of spray to a considerable distance leeward.

The cab stopped at the bottom of the long flight of steps which led up to the grand portico, and ascending it, we passed through, and pushing aside the heavy mat which, as usual in Italian churches, depends upon the door, looked eagerly in, and were—must I confess it?—at first disappointed. One expects a great deal, and the magnitude of the building at first sight did not strike us as so overwhelming. I suppose this was partly owing to its admirable proportions; but when we had walked round the interior, the vastness of the structure seemed to grow upon us, and with every successive visit we felt its solemn grandeur and majestic harmony impressing more and more. We contented ourselves on the present occasion with walking round, Bædeker in hand, studying the plan, and making ourselves familiar with the different parts. St. Peter’s drew us to it repeatedly afterwards, and as this is not a journal of visits, I may here simply notice the result of the impressions which we formed.

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This grand edifice, the largest church in Christendom, is in every respect on a colossal scale. There is nothing paltry about it, unless it be the statue of St. Peter himself. This is frightfully hideous, and why it should have been allowed to be set and to remain in a place where everything is in such good taste, is very extraordinary. The statue is a sitting one, bolt upright, and holding up two fingers of the right hand in a stiff manner. The face is ugly, and certainly has not anything of the Jewish type about it. Every minute people are seen coming up to kiss the toe of this odious image, the kissing being performed by all classes of people. I observed how inconsistent it was with the character of the apostle, who, with all his forwardness, had a profound consciousness of his own sinful humanity, and who himself, when ‘Cornelius fell down at his feet and worshipped him, took him up, saying, Stand up, I myself also am a man.’ A story goes that a person affected with sore eyes had gone up and rubbed them upon the toe, and immediately afterwards a gentleman, ignorant of this remedial operation, coming in, kissed it. Let us hope he was straightway informed by some charitable onlooker of what had previously been done, and that the fact opened his eyes to the grossness of such superstitious idolatry. It is strange that Peter should be forced into association with Rome, because, as those who have anxiously investigated the subject consider, there is no actual proof of the ‘first’ (called) of the apostles ever having been there. And yet in the Mamertine prison, the place is shown where it is given out that Peter and Paul were imprisoned; and so far do they presume on credulity, that a hollow in the wall is actually pointed out and gravely affirmed to have been made upon it by contact with the energetic apostle’s head, I suppose during animated discussions with Paul. If I am not mistaken, it was Adam Smith who left the mark of his head on the wall paper of the room in which he wrote his _Wealth of Nations_; but Peter’s head must have been formed of stuff harder and rougher even than that of his statue, to have hollowed out a hole in a stone wall. A more wonderful stone, however, is shown in a little chapel outside the gates, fixed on the floor, where we were gravely informed, for the charge of, I think, 5 soldi (twopence halfpenny), that the deep impression of two feet—pretty large ones too—were the marks of Peter’s feet. This marvellous petrifaction is protected by an iron grating.[29] To crown all, the dome of St. Peter’s is held to cover the site of the burial–place of the apostle, and beneath lies his tomb. Over the supposed tomb and over the high altar attached, at which only a pope or a cardinal delegate can officiate on important occasions, a canopy (_baldacchino_) rises ninety–five feet high, to which, architecturally, exception has been taken. More exception might be taken to the reality of the place of sepulture. It cannot even be proved that Peter was put to death at Rome, and is it likely that his persecutors would allow him to be buried in the spot alleged, or that any succeeding emperor, supposing he was desirous of removing the martyr to a place with which he, the apostle of the Jews, had no peculiar connection, would have been able to have recovered and identified the body?

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The grand central aisle of the cathedral is flanked by colossal columns, the size of which can hardly be appreciated without actual measurement or veritable comparison with other known heights. On each side the aisles, of proportionate size, contain large chapels, one of which is used for the ordinary services of the Church, which are chanted by the pope’s choir. Gigantic statues and monuments of popes adorn the aisles and transept. The altars, as usual, are enriched by paintings, which at our first visit, being in Lent, were, as in all the churches at that season, veiled. The altars themselves are rich, but not obtrusively so—all in quiet keeping with the august building. In the transept, wooden confessional boxes are set, each different confessing nation, England included, having one. Looking up the gigantic dome, we find the walls covered with mosaics. The four Evangelists occupy a first course, and high above them other figures.

Once a week, Thursday mornings, before ten o’clock, the public are admitted to ascend the dome, which, to the top of the lantern, is 403 feet high, the extreme height at the summit of the cross being 435 feet. The ascent, which can be made on horseback to the roof, is extremely interesting, and gives a better idea of the magnitude of the building than any perambulations below. It is effected by a special tower situated near the portico. By a gentle slope the passage rises, winding and winding round this huge tower, along the sides of which inscriptions, cut in the stone, bear the names of monarchs who have made the ascent, till, after a long and wearisome progression, the roof of the cathedral is reached, and stepping out on it we see its great extent and the gigantic size of the statues, which, having regard to view from below, are three times the size of life. Walking across the roof and mounting a few steps, we enter the dome, and get into the first gallery which encircles it within. Even from this elevation, gazing down, the people walking on the floor below looked like pigmies. At this point we were brought into proximity to the mosaics, and perceived the colossal scale upon which they are constructed. The Evangelists, who look like life–size below, are found to be of immense magnitude; and what look like small cherub boys below, are huge giants, the dimensions of which I would not venture to name, because in St. Peter’s all computations by the eye are deceptive, and it is only by referring to actual measurement that sizes can be safely reckoned. Here also the width of the dome (178 feet) is observable by finding what a long walk it is round the gallery. A further ascent up narrow stairs leads to the second gallery over the first and inside the dome, and from this gallery everything below is still more dwarfed. Then, by contracted stairs between the inner and outer walls of the dome, the lantern is gained. It would be a dizzy height were it not for the platform of the roof more immediately below. From this point an admirable bird’s–eye view of Rome is had. Unfortunately the day we ascended was gusty and wet with occasional showers, rendering it undesirable to stand at the embrasures, and disturbing our view. But we could catch a glimpse of the lie of the town and its extent, which appeared less than we had expected to see it. Rome is compact, and this city, once the mistress of the world, and said to have in the days of its glory possessed a population exceeding that of London, does not appear to cover one–third of the ground on which the city of Edinburgh stands. The greatest length of the inhabited part seems to be about 1¾ miles, its greatest width about the same. According to the last census, the present population is under 250,000. The town, as now occupied, dates back only to the end of the sixteenth century.