CHAPTER V.
Vogogna—Country overflowed—The ferry—Isola Madre—Baveno—Innkeeper—Isola Bella—Ground made in 1670—Arona—Castle of St. Charles of Borromeo—Castle ofAngera—Frescoes in its ruined halls—History of St. Charles of Borromeo—Early habits—Resides in his diocese at Milan—Strives to reform the church—Attempt to murder him—A miracle—His conduct during the plague—Life of St. Anthony—Who cured the young pig—St. Christopher, who was twelve feet high—TheTicino—Amusement on board the ferry—The commissary—Sesto Calende—A charge—Sommaand Julius Cæsar’s cypress—Castle of theVisconti—Birthplace of Teobaldo—Elected Pope when in the Holy Land with Edward the First of England—Otho Viscontifounder of his family’s grandeur—Gallerate—A threatened beating—The Lord’s Supper on theaubergewall—The robber’s seven towers—Battle between theVisconti—Unwarranted preference shown by a ghost—Murder in the castle at Milan—The murderer poisoned by his wife—Rhò—Milan.
Milan, 25th September.
Once more not “upon the waters” but on the road, though indeed I need not have changed the quotation, since atVogognathere is no bridge. LeavingDomo, the road runs in a straight and even line along the valleyand between the wooded mountains, theSimplonand its snow closing the glen behind us. The vine, so unsightly in France, here confers great beauty, rising from the road in terraces of shady arbours, or winding its flexible branches round cherry-tree and thorn, the long untrained tendrils waving gracefully, and the rich bunches hung heavily down. We passed, ere we reachedVogogna, which is six miles fromDomo d’Ossola, several tracts of land ruined by the late overflow; meadows covered with mud, and Indian corn decaying on the stalk. “Ha tutto rovinato,” said a poor woman, who was mournfully gazing at her field of rotting corn. Arrived atVogogna, the ferry-boat was on the opposite side, and on ours, waiting to be transported thither, were troops of horned cattle lying on the sand, and an English carriage. Seeing there was small chance of speedy removal, as we could distinguish on the other side a most obstinate cow, who was first to be deposited on ours, we dismounted to sit patiently on the crags scattered about us, left probably by the Anza, which joins theTosa, here rushing down through the valley ofAnzasca,whose opening lay behind us, and from its source in the glaciers ofMonte Rosa.The stonework, whence sprung the bridge which once transported travellers toVogogna, remains on eachside the river, but the bridge carried away in 1834, Italian indolence leaves unreplaced; substituting the worst of ferry-boats, small and without barriers. The English gentleman, the inhabitant of the carriage, had got out with his daughter, and come near to admire Fanny and kindly yield his turn to us. Our horses started at their unusual conveyance when led on board, particularly mine, who we feared would spring into the water, but our good natured countryman insisting on lending his assistance, the difficulty seemed surmounted, till we found that the two boatmen, who had contentedly ferried across one cow, were now preparing to drive six oxen on board, an addition which, from the size of the boat, if it did not frighten, was likely to force our horses over. We fortunately comprehended that there was an alternative, and having before paid the fare, gave three times the sum forbuona mano, and were allowed to cross without them.
This had been a long delay, and to redeem lost time we cantered along, leaving behind vines and wood and much of the road’s beauty, substituting marsh and bare mountain. Arrived atFariolowe found compensation, for it is the first village on the lake border, and the lake, blue and glassy, soothing in its calm and silence, was beautiful beyonddescription. There is here an inn which appears a good one, and had been recommended to us by the master of that ofDomo, but the stage would have been too short.
The first visible of the Borromean islands is the green and lovelyIsola Madre, backed by bold mountains, opening and receding to admit the lake which stretches between them, completing its length of fifty-four miles, for the portion along which we were riding forms its west arm only; broken crags and wooded promontories, crowned by church, convent, and castle, bounded the shore opposite and parallel to our broad road carried under cliffs and green hills, their abrupt sides covered with graceful vineyards, and their summit shaded by luxuriant oak and sweet chestnut. We were disturbed in our admiration only by swarms of flies, which made our horses kick violently; I personally, by a half fear of the bright water, along whose edge this noble causeway has been made, sometimes rising many feet above its level, and here, as at theSimplon, the only obstacle between it and my starting little steed, low granite posts unconnected and far apart. We passed the quarries of pink granite which take so high a polish, and arrived atBaveno,but it was early still, and the innkeeper has at present a character for being both dear and insolent,while his house has one for dirt; it is a pity, for it is well situated, with only the road and some fine trees between it and the lake. This is the person, who, having fleeced unmercifully an English party we met atVevay, said in reply to a remonstrance, “What the prices of Milan, or of any other place may be, I never inquire; these are mine!” so having walked our horses towards the inn whence this dignitary had issued at our approach with a self-satisfied air and two waiters, we cantered by, though theMonte Monteronerises behind the village, commanding from its summit a view of theLago de Ortaon one side, and of theLago Maggioreon the other; we were yet too fresh from a mountain pass to desire a second. I more regretted wanting time to visit theIsola Bella, distant but a twenty-five minutes’ row from this spot, but it looks perhaps to more advantage seen from the shore, its ten amphitheatrical terraces rising green and glowing with its orange and citron forests from the bosom of the blue water; and the lake supporting it gently, and smiling to reflect it, as if it were proud of its presence, and bare its exotic carefully. On the northern side of the island, that nearestBaveno,the still unfinished palace rises abruptly from the lake, as do the inn and a few poor dwellings almost by its side. Beyond them is a groveof laurel and myrtle and the hardier shrubs, this exposition not being favourable to all, for the terraced gardens have a southerly aspect, and it is there that the aloes and camphor tree and cactus grow, with the Alps looking down on them, as if in their own tropical soil. This was a barren slate rock. Here, as well as on the other islands, naked crags also, was the now fruitful earth transported by human labour in 1670, by order of CountVitaliano Borromeo,whose descendant still makes the palace his summer residence. Perhaps the hand of art is too visible, and theIsola Bellaless striking from its individual beauty than its glorious position; but if not deserving the exaggerated praise of some, it still less merits the contempt of others. I prefer indeed theIsola Madre; for its forest of laurel, cypress and gigantic pine, though planted on a made soil also, grows in the wild beauty of nature, sheltering exotic birds, which live and multiply in freedom, and the plants of southern climes flourishing in the open air.
We could distinguish theIsolino,the smallest of these islands, nestling under the promontory ofPallanza.TheIsola Pescatorelies near theIsola Bella, like the beggar at the rich man’s gate, covered with the dirty hovels of the fishermen, and without a green leaf to enliven it. We rode on, viewing them onlyfrom the shore, though on theIsola Bellais the bay-tree bearing the wordBattaglia, carved by Napoleon’s knife shortly before the battle ofMarengo. The road continued to skirt the lake, raised high above its waters, crossing a fine bridge over a torrent, and passing throughStresa,where boats may be hired to visit the islands, andBelgiratewith its villas and terraces of flowers. The sun set as we rode through the last, and though the cool evening air was a relief, and the Swiss lakes sink into mediocrity beside the beauty of this, the loneliness of the road caused by the brokenSimplonmade me anxious to arrive ere nightfall; but the distance at which we sawArona, built at the promontory’s foot, and the long curve of the road to arrive there, soon proved that this was impossible, though, at the first glimpse, the extreme clearness of the atmosphere deceives as to space. I was glad, as the sky darkened, to meet custom-house officers on the look out for smugglers. Pleasure-boats and fishing-smacks were silently moving along the water, wanting the neatness and gaiety of those of Geneva, but manned by most picturesque forms. My first impression of Italian beauty was a favourable one, for fromDomo d’OssolatoAronaI hardly saw one peasant not handsome.Aronais picturesquely situated, thespire of its church towering high above the old houses which descend to the water’s edge, and the whitening remains of the ruined castle in which St. Charles of Borromeo was born covering the tall crag which commands the town. On the summit of the hill, ere arriving atArona, we could distinguish St. Charles’s statue looking black against the glowing sky, but having little effect at that distance, though it is sixty-six feet in height, and its pedestal forty-four; neither did I think the attitude good; one hand holds a breviary, the other is extended to bless the place of his birth, but the arm seems cramped. It had become quite dark, and the road rather unsafe, for it is narrower and higher above the lake. The full moon was rising slowly from behind the hill ofAngeraopposite us, showing herself above the ruined castle which surmounts it, and resting on its towers like a glory. The castle and village once belonged to the dukes of Milan, and in the deserted halls are still some fresco paintings, commemorating events of the life of ArchbishopOtho Visconti. There was just sufficient cloud in the sky to make its blue seem more bright and pure, and the reflection of the moon which crossed the lake to our feet danced so dazzlingly that the eye pained to watch it. We had some trouble in forcing the horses past a lime-kiln. The stronglight flung across the road mingling with the moonbeam, and falling on the fine dark faces of the Italians who stood near; the ruin and that sky and water, made a picture forVernet.I dare say we shall never forget the moon rising over theLago Maggiore.We found our way to the inn with difficulty, through narrow streets of lofty houses, into which the moonlight could not penetrate; and asAronaboasts no lamps, would have been wholly dark but for the lights glimmering from the windows to make their crookedness visible.
La Postais clean, its owners civil, and dinners good, but the nakedness of Italian rooms is melancholy. In France, even in an humble inn, you will find the mirror over the chimney, with the clock and vases of gaudy flowers to decorate it, and a comfortable chair, and curtains to bed and window; but here the iron bedstead has none, the chimney has no looking-glass, one or two upright straw chairs and a deal table only on the dirty brick floor; and looking from the furniture to the plastered walls, it is difficult not to fancy oneself either in the cell of a prison or the ward of an hospital. I must say inLa Posta’sfavour, that all the apartments to the lake, which are the best, were already occupied when we arrived, so that having dined and passed half an hour atthe window of the corridor behind our rooms, looking out on its beauty, I proceeded to my deal table and the contemplation of the Life of San Carlo Borromeo. Pursuing my old habit of borrowing a book to summon sleep, I am likely to read through a strange library. The colossal statue is but half an hour’s walk from the inn: the head, hands, and feet only, are of bronze, the drapery composed of sheets of beaten copper, supported within by a species of stone pyramid, crossed by bars of iron, which defend it from the violence of the winds. It is possible to clamber up in the dark, making these serve for ladder, first entering by an aperture between the folds of the robe; but as the promenade would be impossible for a lady, and the temptation to sit in the saint’s nose was not strong enough to attract D——, we neither made a pilgrimage to his shrine, contenting ourselves with his history.
Know then that he was born in 1538, in that ruined castle on the crag, the mild child of pious parents, enthusiastic from his infancy, passing his hours of recreation in the castle chapel, alone and in prayer—when taken from a life of contemplation, which might have weakened his intellects, studying with none of the relaxations of his age atPaviaand Milan—at twelve years old provided with a richabbey, whose possession was hereditary in his family; and soon after, the Cardinal De’ Medici, his uncle, becoming PopePiusthe Fourth, he ceded to him a second and a priory. His elder brother dying in 1562, and his family in consequence beseeching him to abandon the profession to which he was yet unbound, and marry for the sake of his ancient line, to extinguish at once their hopes of his doing so, he entered into holy orders and was ordained bishop. It is strange that, before this and his brother’s death, he wore the purple as cardinal at the age of three-and-twenty; occupied divers posts of importance; taking part in the temporal government of the pope’s states as well as in the affairs of the church, protecting letters, and establishing an academy at the Vatican. His biographer says he communicated toPiusthe Fourth, infirm and feeble, the energy so needful to him; gave the impulse wanting to the deliberation of the Council of Trent, and prosecuted the reform of the catholic church, so necessary in his time. At the Roman court he had lived in splendour, but obtaining in 1565 the papal permission to reside in his diocese, he practised in his own house a reform and austerity unlikely to find imitators. He condemned himself to perpetual abstinence and long fasts; gave up his otherbenefices, and resigned his inheritance to his family; divided the revenues of his archbishopric into three portions—the first for the poor, the second for the wants of the church, the third for his own, and of the employment of this last rendered up a strict account in his provincial councils.
Having found the diocese of Milan in a most deplorable state from the negligence, ignorance, and scandalous conduct of the clergy, he so toiled to produce a better state of things that, despite his patience and charity, his enemies among the religious orders, which had shaken off all subordination, were virulent; and many and foremost of these, as it had hitherto been most shameless and irregular, was that of the “Umiliati.” One day, during mass, while the prelate prayed with his whole household in his archiepiscopal chapel, and at the moment that the anthem “Non turbetur cor,” &c., was commenced, a brother of the order, named Farina, who had taken his post, seemingly in prayer also, at the entrance of the chapel, but five or six paces distant from St. Charles, who was kneeling before the altar, fired his harquebuss at him. The chant ceased, the consternation was general, but the saint, notwithstanding that he believed himself mortally wounded, made a sign that the service should continue. Rising up when the prayerwas done, the ball, which had deposited itself in his robe, fell at his feet!!! The assassin, and three monks, his accomplices, were punished with death, though against St. Charles’s will; and their order, which had existed from the eleventh century, was abolished by a bull of PopePiusthe Fifth, and the archbishop employed its confiscated revenues in founding colleges and hospitals. The event which best proves him worthy of his reputation was the breaking out of the plague at Milan. He had been on a visit to a distant part of his diocese, and on the receipt of the fatal news, notwithstanding the advice of his council, he hurried back, and during the six months through which it lasted, sought fearlessly contagion where it existed in greatest violence, administered the sacraments in person, kneeled by the bedside of the dying, weeping over their sufferings; and to provide at least for their temporal wants, parted with all the relics of his former splendour. He did not fall a victim, but his strength insensibly gave way, and when the scourge had passed by, and the archbishop had resumed his pastoral visits, a low fever, which undermined his worn-out constitution, obliged him to return to Milan, where he died, aged forty-six years. He had chosen for sepulchre a vault near the choir in the cathedral of Milan, and here his modernbiographer observes that the numberless miracles performed by his remains forced Pope Paul the Fifth, in 1610, to verify his title to canonization, and authorize the prayers long before addressed to him by the faithful.
With the life of San Carlo our host had lent another volume from his stores, perhaps from our curiosity concerning his native saint, thinking us on the road to conversion, and that it was right to light our way by a few miracles more. The volume proved one of the renowned “Golden Legends of Saints,” compiled by the DominicanVoragine,archbishop of Genoa in the year 1298. Between asleep and awake, I read the lives of saints Anthony and Christopher, and found that St. Anthony, having been tempted on the seven mortal sins, and beaten by the demons angry at their failure, tamed a lion about to devour his monks, and obliged him to take service in the convent as lay brother! that he then went to the court of Barcelona, where a sow brought to him in her mouth one of her litter, born without feet or eyes, and, laying it down before the saint, pulled him by the robe imploringly,—as much as to say, “Pray bless it and cure it,” which St. Anthony did, and is therefore represented in company of a young pig, as this one for the remainder of his life never left him.
Saint Christopher had a hideous countenance,and was twelve feet high. Being strong and brave he was calculated to serve some great prince, and resolved on selecting for master the most powerful. He offered himself to a mighty king, fought and conquered for him; but Christopher had a bad habit of swearing, and he noticed that his majesty made at every oath the sign of the cross, and asked him why he did so. The monarch replied, he was afraid of the devil. “If that be the case,” thought Christopher, “the devil must be a more powerful master, therefore I will serve the devil.” Having formed this determination, he set forth to a desert, and there found a knightly company, one of whom, most terrible of aspect, asked him what he wanted. “I am looking,” said Christopher, “for my lord the devil.” “I am he,” answered the knight; and Christopher, very joyous, became his servant. But one day, passing before a cross, he observed that the devil trembled, and he asked him why. The devil confessed it was because the Saviour was more mighty than him.
Christopher, in consequence, left his service, but this time was embarrassed as to that he was henceforth to perform. He applied for advice to a hermit, who desired him to fast; but Christopher, being twelve feet high, did not approve of the counsel, and the hermit desired him to take up his abode on the shores of avery rapid river, and carry over for charity those who had business on the other side. This Christopher, now on the way to be a saint, performed for some time; and one day, sleeping in his hut, he was wakened by a child’s voice, which said, “Christopher, come forth and bear me over;” and going as he was called, he found a young child on the shore, who begged he would lift him on his shoulders. St. Christopher took his staff and entered the river, and the river rose by degrees more and more, and the weight of the child increased till it became insupportable, and yet Christopher, though about to drown, did not let go, and by dint of struggling arrived on the beach, and said, “Child, that art so weighty, who art thou?” and the child answered, “Do not marvel, for you have carried the whole world and him who created it.”
Christopher understood that he had borne the Lord on his shoulders, and became a great saint. At last, desiring martyrdom, he allowed himself to be bound and carried before a pagan monarch, and when the latter insulted him, he said he was bound because it was his will to be so, and that if he chose, he could ravage his city still. His majesty defying him to do so, he broke his bonds, destroyed all the pagan temples, then allowed himself to be bound once more, and his head cut off,—predictingthat his blood would be a sovereign balm for all maladies, which it proved; for the king and executioners were struck with blindness, and bathing their eyes in his blood, saw and were well again.
September 26th.
LeftAronafor Milan, a beautiful morning. We followed the lake, though no longer near its edge, but the road winding through a grove of fine chestnut-trees, and the blue water seen through the vistas made by their branches. Arrived at its extremity, at the turn of the road we quitted its shore, crossing the plain which here bounds it; with the view of its bright expanse, (Aronawith its ruin, andAngeraopposite,) now on our left, and behind us the splendid ridge ofMonterosa. We rode along the flat till we entered a stunted oak wood, and issuing from it, were about to leave the Piedmontese frontier, and cross theTicino(which at this spot issues from the lake), toSesto Calende. Thedouanierscame to demand the passport, and retiring withal, spent half an hour in its examination, during which time we sate on our horses, looking at the lake, and the ferry, improperly calledPont Volant,approaching most leisurely—stared at ourselves by a dozen women, who pressed round us, some veiled by the elegant mantilla, and thepoorer wearing the silver or pewter ornaments, ranged round the back of the head, which, being hollow and of the exact shape, look like a crown of spoons; all with the handsome faces and most undaunted dark eyes peculiar to their nation, and here I think also to their sex; for the men have an expression of effeminacy and the females of hardihood.
The passport returned and the flying bridge arrived, we led our horses on board, during which operation Fanny in gratitude pulled me off the plank into a foot and a half of water. The ferry-boat, unlike the last, was a barge, and had barriers; and during the crossing, which occupied three quarters of an hour, a stone-deaf man beat the flies off, and a blind one played the violin, and sang far from badly. They are friends, and find companionship convenient, each supplying to the other the sense wanting. They divided most amicably the money we gave them, and having paid our fare, and thebuona mano,and then something more, under what pretext I forget, we landed through the water again, and now in Austria’s dominions. A soldier desired me to follow to the commissary, while D—— remained with the horses: so, obeying the mandate, I found him lodged at the end of a dirty street and top of a dark stair. He asked me fifty questions quite irrelevant, fidgeted exceedingly, becauseD——’s description was not down in the passport, and at last, Oh, Wisdom! desired me to dictate one, which he wrote down, and being “Middle height, grey eyes,” and otherwise as explicit, would suit four-fifths of her majesty’s subjects. He then made me a polite bow, said there was nothing to pay, and we went on again.
Sesto Calendeand its environs enjoy a very indifferent reputation. I can say nothing of the honesty of its inhabitants, but a great deal of their incivility. Walking our horses through the town, the boys hooted us as usual, but arrived at the outskirts, they were joined and augmented by youths and men, till there were about thirty of these last following at a few paces behind us, and shouting with the whole force of their lungs. We bore it till it became insupportable, and at last turned the horses, who were excited by the noise, and fretting at being insulted, and I think perfectly understood they were to scatter the enemy, for they darted on them at full speed; Fanny, in particular, very warlike, with her small ears laid back, and her heels thrown up to make way. The road was clear in a second, and when our charge was executed and we quietly walked on, I suppose they returned to the town, as no one followed us farther. BetweenSestoandSommawe crossed wild tracts of melancholymoor, and here and there a stunted copse. AtSommais the ancient and superb cypress tree, averred to have been a sapling in Julius Cæsar’s time, and certainly measuring twenty feet round its stem, and a hundred and twenty in height. For the sake of its green old age the road diverged from the straight line by Napoleon’s order. We passed on our right, and within the village, a castle belonging to theViscontifamily, in which was born Teobaldo, who was archdeacon of Liege, and elected pope in 1271, when absent in the Holy Land in company of Edward the First of England, then Prince of Wales. When the news of his promotion reached him, he ascended the pulpit and pronounced a brilliant discourse, taking for text the two verses of the 137th Psalm:—
“If I forget thee, O Jerusalem! may my right hand forget her cunning.”
“If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.”
Arrived in Italy, Teobaldo, become Gregory the Tenth, exerted himself to promote a crusade, and to accomplish his end commenced by striving to reconcile Guelphs with Ghibellines, and to pacify Italy. It was he who first made the law, after his death revoked, and then again put in force, inclosing the cardinalsin conclave after the decease of a pope, till they should have elected his successor, to prevent the papal chair from again remaining vacant through their tardiness, as it had done before his accession, two years and nine months. The founder of his family’s grandeur wasOtho Visconti, born in 1208, created archbishop of Milan by Pope Urban the Fourth, in opposition to the La Torre, then chief of the Republic; but after long wars and various fortune, presented with the perpetual lordship of the Milanese territory by the people, weary of the cruelty and exertions of his descendant Napoleon, and profiting by his defeat to free themselves from the yoke of his family, substituting in its place that of theVisconti, whose sovereignty (with one brief interval) was destined to flourish during nearly two hundred years.
AtSommaandGallerate, which is the next town on our way, have been found many Roman antiquities, inscriptions, and medals, and also arms: for nearSommawas fought the first great battle between Hannibal and Scipio, in which the latter was defeated; and previously that of Marcellus against the Insubrians.Galleratetakes its name, say the antiquarians, from the legion Gallerata, encamped there under the command of the consuls Marcellus and Cornelius. Beyond thesewe were in the vine and corn country; for the first is trained to climb the trees, oak or elm, planted in avenues for the purpose, dropping from one to the other in deep festoons,—a mode of cultivation which seems wise as well as ornamental, as it leaves a much larger portion of ground free for other produce. The plain is here bounded by no mountains, and the country interesting only as the vintage had begun; and the peasantry, proceeding to or returning from it, reproducing at every step the beautiful picture in the Louvre by Robert, who died so early and unhappily: the oxen drawing slowly along the heavy car, with its barrel laden with grapes; the men with red handkerchiefs tied round their black hair, and male and female with legs bare and bronzed by the climate, but with heads of surpassing beauty. I particularly noticed one girl who had the fair hair and dark eyes, so seldom united, and the very perfection of Grecian form: that French artists should reap benefit in studying such features beneath such skies is not extraordinary. We found little or no shade, for the road was bordered only by low hedges of acacia, now in flower, and our horses missed the bright streams and stone reservoirs by the road-side in Switzerland, and impatiently sought muddy water in ditches not yet dried since the rains. Suffering fromthirst ourselves, D—— hailed some of the vintagers, and they brought us a quantity of grapes, to which those of France bear no comparison. Fanny turned her head to ask and receive her share, and in gratitude walked on with unusual gentleness, though with the reins on her neck, as I feared to drop any part of my burden. We passed henceforth through a succession of villages, boasting most savage inhabitants, exciting the wrath of D——, lately accustomed to the more civilized Swiss of the German cantons. Before oneaubergestood a half drunken crowd, one of whom, as we went slowly by, seized a long pole to rush on me withal, and was with difficulty held back by two of his comrades; the rest laughed; and I, who had no expectation of an attack, (not thinking a lady’s habit would wake such animosity,) as mine enemy struggled hard, and I did not know how the contest might end, thought proper not to wait to see, and we rode away. I dislike their country churches,—begun with overweening pomp and left unfinished when the funds have failed—their domes and pillared façades unsuited to their situation among trees and cabins, and far less picturesque than those of Switzerland built on their green or craggy mounds, with pointed windows and spires of grey stone. We passed crosses innumerable, many bearing, in lieu ofthe Saviour’s figure, the sponge, nails, and spear, carved in wood; and small cemeteries, the recesses of the low walls which inclose them, gaudily painted in fresco with saints and martyrs. On a wall of a miserable inn near Milan, the village artist has depicted a Lord’s supper! We rode through theCascina delle corde;or, as it is called, theCascina del buon Jesu!a little to the right of which is seen the town ofBusto,whose church was designed byBramante.Of the seven old towers, formerly the refuge of a famous robber-band, there remains but one standing. NearLegnarello,on the shore of the little riverOlona,isParabiago,celebrated as the site of a battle fought in February, 1339, byLuchino,third son ofMaffeo Visconti, against his cousinLodvisioand a rebel army. His horse had been killed under him, and hiscasquebroken, and himself bound to an oak tree, the blood gushing from his wounds; till, the tide of fortune changing, he was delivered by a party ofSavoyards,andLodvisioin his place taken captive. A wondrous apparition startled, it was said, both armies, and put a stop to the carnage. Saint Ambrose, who in the fourth century was archbishop of Milan, suddenly arose between the rebels and allies. That he should have left his grave to protectLuchino,would at least prove he interested himself in an unworthy subject:forLuchino’sonly merit seems to have been courage. He advised and directed the murder of his brother Marco (the bravest and perhaps the best of this stirring family), whenAzzo, the nephew of both, as the son of their elder brother, was lord of Milan. Marco had distinguished himself in the service of the Ghibelline party, and choosing that no political consideration should interfere with its welfare, he saw indignantly that his brotherGaleazzonegotiated with the pope, and denounced his proceedings to Louis of Bavaria.Galeazzo,his sonAzzo,and his brother, were in consequence arrested; but Marco was no sooner aware of what his imprudence had caused, than he repented of it, solicited their liberty of the emperor, with an earnestness not to be silenced; himself aided in supplying their ransom, and, unable to furnish the entire sum, consented to remain hostage till its completion.
Galeazzodied, andAzzowas in no haste to deliver his uncle; but Marco, confided to a portion of the emperor’s army, so won the hearts of the soldiers placed to guard him, that they named him their general. Heading them, he surprised and took possession ofLucca,sold it toSpinolato satisfy his soldiers with its price, and returned to Milan in July, the citizens who had rejoiced in his triumphs—the soldierswhom he preceded in danger—the peasants whose fields he had guarded—flocking forth to meet him.
His nephewAzzo,and his brotherLuchino,invited him to a festival in their castle of Milan, and when the feasting was over and the night far advanced, and Marco was about to retire,Azzorequested his private hearing of a few words, and led him to an apartment, whose windows looked on the public square. As the door closed on them, hired assassins rushed on and strangled Marco, flinging his dishonoured remains forth where the people, impotent to avenge, might see it and shudder as they passed at the dark end of their warrior.Azzodied in his bed; andLuchino, having inherited his authority, persecuted all who had held place or power during his reign. His severity causing a conspiracy to deprive him of his lordship, and elevate in his stead his nephews, sons of his brother Stefano, he discovered the plot. The conspirators died by the gibbet, by torture and famine; his nephews were banished; but from that time the sombre disposition ofLuchinogrew still more severe, and his pale and menacing brow never unbent thenceforward. He had married twice; his second wife wasIsabella of Fiesco,a lady of rare beauty but shameless conduct, on whoseaccount he had exiled his nephewGaleazzo. Reconciled to her husband,Isabella,under pretext of devotion, craved permission to make a pilgrimage toVenice.A splendid flotilla was got ready on the river Po, and the fairest dames of Milan accompanied their liege lady.Ugolino of Gonzagua,son of the lord ofMantua,now found favour in her eyes. He detained her some time in his father’s states, and accompanied her toVenice,whither she repaired for the festival of the Ascension. On her return to Milan the details of this journey became whispered abroad, and the mutual accusations of the ladies of the court at last brought the tale toLuchino’sear. He listened in silence, for he meditated a fearful revenge, and Isabella, ere she heard she was betrayed, read his knowledge and her own fate in his dark features; and resolving to forestall him in crime, mixed poison in his drink, and he died in the castle wherein he had murdered Marco.
We passed throughRhò, a village of some importance; beyond are rice-grounds and extensive and unhealthy marshes. The entrance to Milan is fine: an avenue a mile in length oftulipiferas,now about to blossom, with a grove on either side, conducting to Napoleon’s memorial, theArco del Sempione.Our passports examined, we crossed, as the sun set, the extensive exercising ground, and the courts of the building now serving for barracks, once the fortified castle of the dukes of Milan, but still retaining its ancient aspect; built of dark brick with heavy battlements and covered walls; that towards the town flanked by two massive round towers, on which cannon are now pointed, ready at need to awe the town.
We summoned an idler to be our guide, and without him should have failed in arriving ere midnight, for Milan boasts an incomprehensible collection of crooked streets, and an insolent population, who would have lent no aid in the labyrinth. Young and old crowded about us, almost preventing our horses from moving forward, and hooted manfully. Yet I am told the governor’s daughter and officer’s wives ride constantly in the Corso, but not daring to offer insult to the Austrian masters, who I heard with satisfaction make no difficulty of correcting with the blow of a cane or the flat of the sword, a word from a refractory vassal, they compensate for the privation when an opportunity offers, as now. We rode by the beautiful cathedral, and through more winding alleys, some so narrow that two carriages cannot pass, made dangerous for horsesby the bands of flat pavement laid down to facilitate the roll of the wheels, and arrived at dusk at San Marco. I do not think it a good inn: its rooms are large, but dirty; its servants numerous, but inattentive; and its cookery greasy beyond description.