We left the mighty column standing in its solitary grandeur, a memorial of man’s achievement, while yet other things around us testified to the instability of all earthlythings. “Change and decay in all around I see.”
We reached our hotel tired and hungry. We, however, soon found the value of a good wash, then a good table-de-hote meal, and then to write up our diaries and think of the day’s experiences, then to go to rest. After a good night’s sleep we rose refreshed. Had a good wash, then breakfast. After letters, postcards, etc., we prepared for further investigations of the great city. We went out, but no sooner did we appear in the great square facing our hotel, when, I should think, at least a dozen cabmen turned their horses heads towards us, asking for our patronage. We could only hire one, so we had choice and it fell upon a decent looking man—the very picture of a son of Italy—with a very good looking horse. This time we drove to the mound upon which stands the noble monument to General Garibaldi, the statue of one of Italy’s noblest heroes and patriots. Garibaldi was born at Nice in 1807. His family were quite obscure, and without name or fame. His father had a small coasting vessel, and to this, probably, is due something of the adventurous spirit of his son. When he had attained his manhood, he went to Genoa and then to Rome.Here he joined a band called “Young Italy,” and as a member of this band he was indicted for treason and sentenced to death.
Garibaldi’s Monument, Rome
By some means he escaped this sentence and fled to Marseilles in France. From here to South America, and here he joined the army and fought against Brazil. He became a most adventurous and daring leader. In 1848 he returned to Italy with a view to give himself to the army of Italy. They, however, did not receive him with the cordiality he deserved. He, however, raised an army of 1,500 brave men, like-minded with himself, and went against the Austrians, who were threatening Italy severely and dangerously. He showed skill and bravery on the field of battle, and so attracted the notice of Victor Immanuel, who with his own hand fastened on the hero’s breast the gold medal for military bravery. He became the idol of the nation of Italy, as General Gordon might be called the hero of the Soudan. So Garibaldi may be called the hero of Italy, and as in Gordon’s case, riches, titles, conventional distinctions were as nothing, so in the case of this illustrious soldier and hero. He had the honour of a seat in the Parliament of Italy in 1875. The latter part of his life was spent in retirement, and he died suddenly in the year 1882. And here to his memory is erected, in the very heart of the Eternal City, a splendidmonument. His life-sized figure in bronze on a fine charger, while around the monument are bas-reliefs of great interest. From this high elevation we had a good view of the city and of the river Tiber, which is about equal to our river Trent for width, it is spanned in several places by bridges. Here we could look down the Appian Way. It would not be difficult, standing here, to imagine just away at yonder port, some ten or twelve miles away, a shipwrecked crew has landed its cargo of grain; also some soldiers with three prisoners, amongst them is Paul, the great apostle to the Gentiles. He is chained to a soldier; they come along the Appian Way, where we are just looking—a road that had often rung with the plaudits to the victors in many a hard fought fight. A strange sight to see this poor man, without money, friends, or influence. Yet he was the true conqueror of Rome. He said truly “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things that are mighty.” Cor., chapter I, verse 27. St. Paul says again: “And so we went towards Rome, and from thence, when the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii forum, and the three taverns: whom when Paul saw, he thanked God, andtook courage.” Acts, chapter 28, verses 14 & 15. Paul is allowed to speak for himself, having appealed to Cæsar. “And Paul dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came to him, preaching the Kingdom of God, and teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ.”
Up this Way, it is likely, Titus brought up the spoils he had taken in his overthrow of the City of Jerusalem. The spoils consisted of the “Ark of the Covenant,” overlaid round about with gold, the golden pot that had manna, “and Aaron’s rod that budded.” Heb., chapter 9, verse 4. From this vantage ground we could see Rome, regal Rome, republican Rome, and in the distance St. Peter’s and the Vatican, and many hundreds of other churches and prominent buildings which hold the records of ecclesiastical Rome.
We visited, of course, the grand church or cathedral of St. Peter. This is the one thing wemustsee. This is the goal of millions of pious pilgrims from all lands, and at all seasons. I noticed in our illustrated papers of about November, 1908, the Pope had been celebrating his fifty years of priesthood, there was a great procession of thirty-six Cardinals, four hundred Bishops, fifty thousand spectators, and St. Peter’s offerings were asked for by His Holiness for chalices for the poorerchurches. The Duchess of Norfolk presented £500 as a response. The Pope was carried shoulder high in the Sedia Gestoria, over the heads of the vast masses, and as he was borne aloft, he bestowed his blessings on all sides, and amongst all classes of people. Passing over or through the vast throng he was placed on his golden throne, whence he grants his indulgences and extends to his flock sympathy and prayers.
When we got within sight of the noble building we were constrained to stand still and look and let our thoughts and feelings have full play, for just then they were of a very mixed character, as we thought of Rome and its history, of this building and its surroundings, and what it meant. At the entrance we could see right through the large Piazza or Square, in the centre of which is an obelisk, I think Egyptian in character. On either side are fountains throwing their sparkling waters from almost innumerable jets. Then there are colonnades also, and 284 columns, each column is about 40-feet high, and on the column a statue about 16-feet high, these give an idea of the vastness of the building beyond. The obelisk in St. Peter’s Square weighs 3,270 tons—it is said that the ship that brought it from Egypt was so large that the Emperor Claudius had it sunk at themouth of the Tiber to serve as part of the foundations for the outward wall of the Port of Ostia, in the year 39A.D.
St. Peter’s, Rome
It was left until the year 1566 before orders were given by Pope Sextus to have it placed in this square. At the top of this great obelisk is a cross which is said to be a part of the real cross on which our Lord and Saviour was crucified. Passing this outward display of grandeur in the shape of statuary, columns and colonnades, we reached the steps leading up to the vestibule, these are massive marble steps, with colossal statues of St. Peter and St. Paul at the foot. It is said that this is the largest and the most costly church in the world. It was built on the site of the Emperor Nero’s circus, which was the scene of the most terrible martyrdoms, and it is also said to be the place where St. Peter was buried after his crucifixion. About the year 106A.D., history tells us there was a monument erected here to mark the site of St. Peter’s tomb. Earlier a basilica was founded on this spot, which stood for over one thousand years, then showing signs of decay (and one cannot wonder at it). Nicholas V., in 1447, decided to erect one larger and better in its place.
Rome continued: St. Peter’s building: St. Peter’s Statue: St. Peter’s resting place: The vast Columns, Pictures, Fonts, Confessionals, etc.: The Vatican: The Professional Letter Writer: The Arch of Titus: Statue of Nero, etc.
This decision, however, he never carried out, but in the year 1506, Julian II. laid the foundation of this vast church we are now about to enter. The first architect died while the work was in its early stages. Then Raphael, with two other architects, were appointed, and these also died during the building. Michael Angelo, who was then between seventy and eighty years of age, was selected to superintend the work. He is credited with the designing of that marvellous dome and cross, but did not live to see it completed. Indeed, not less than fifteen architects succeeded one another during the time of its building, and twenty-eight Popes reigned before it was completed (a time of 176 years). Its actual completion was not until 1784, a term of 278 years.
Carlo Fountana estimates the cost at£11,000,000. He states that it required 400,000 lbs. of bronze to form the statue of St. Peter inside the cathedral. The whole area is 240,000 square feet; when this is stated one may form some faint idea of the magnitude of the building. There are within and without the building columns in marble to the number of 756; 245 are inside. There are 46 altars and 121 lamps, most of them are kept burning night and day. One hundred and thirty-two Popes have been buried here, if you count as they do from St. Peter on to the last Pope who passed away. It is stated that the cost of keeping the place in repair is over £6,000 per year. Our first view of the Nave as we entered, created such a feeling of awe and reverence, that like the Queen of Sheba, of whom it is said, “when she saw the glory of Solomon there was no more spirit in her.” “And behold the half was not told me.” I. Kings, chapter 10, verses 5 and 7. I gazed with awe and admiration at one time on the marvellous Niagara Falls, and the sight seemed to bring me into the very presence of the great Creator, God. And now, to gaze upon works of such a colossal magnitude and of such a costly character, made us feel subdued and reverent. I may safely assume, I think, that every one will not see it just as we saw it; I mean theywill interpret its meaning differently. We were some time before we came to realize the fact that it was of such extraordinary proportions. Looking at the cherubs which support the fonts that contain holy water, at first you think they are models of children, but when you come beside them you find they are much larger than ordinary grown-up people. On the floor we noticed there are stars or marks telling the length of the building as compared with other large cathedrals. St. Paul’s in London, is here given as 516-feet long, the Cathedral in Milan as 440-feet, the Cathedral in Florence is given as 495-feet, St. Peter’s, at Bologna, 440-feet, and St. Sophia, at Constantinople, 364-feet, while this St. Peter’s is 619-feet in length. On your right hand passing up the nave is the gigantic statue of St. Peter in bronze, which, with the foot held out slightly, I suppose millions of visitors from all nations and peoples and tongues have stooped to kiss the large toe, which, in consequence, is worn seriously out of shape. Some have gone so far as to say that this is the statue of Jupiter, only it has been slightly altered to suit its present purpose. I think it is Dean Swift who said (in a joke) “that the difference between the ancient and modern Rome was, that the one was the worshipper of Jupiter, and the other the worshipper ofJew Peter.” As we stood beside this image in bronze and looked to the right—the confessional to the left—the confessional. Visitors in kneeling posture before an image of the Virgin, another before a picture. Another walks up to the font and crosses his forehead with holy water, we felt that we could not but pity these poor deluded souls in bondage to a priestly intolerance, when they might have had the real liberty of the children of God.
Above this great statue of St. Peter, sitting in a chair of marble, in the act of blessing the people, is a portrait in mosaic of Pope Pius IX., and an inscription which states that he is the only Pope whose years of pontificate are more than were those of St. Peter. In the niches around the pillars which support the cupola are some very fine specimens of statuary, and above these are several small galleries which contain the Holy Relics, these are shown to the public on the great festive days. There are sixteen windows round the cupola, and over these are sixteen richly gilded pillars, between each of these are beautiful mosaics representing Popes and Bishops buried in the church, also of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, and the Apostles. Over the High Altar under the cupola, where the Pope alone has the right to say Mass, rises a very costly canopy ofbronze, supported by four spiral columns of richly gilded bronze about 60-feet high, including the cross. The Altar is placed in such a position that the Pope saying Mass, faces the people. Under the Altar is St. Peter’s tomb; a double flight of steps of Greek marble lead down to it, and at the bottom is a statue of one of the Popes kneeling; at the sides are four large columns of alabaster, and above these are two pillars of agate with the statues of St. Peter and St. Paul. The place in which St. Peter’s ashes rest, and that forms part of the oratory, is covered with the most costly marble. When Peter said “silver and gold have I none,” Acts. chapter 3, verse 6, he could not have had the least idea of the costliness of his resting place in Rome.
All things seem to be provided for the purpose of a worship meant to captivate the senses by its external splendour and beauty, until the very object of religion, the cultivation of the Christian virtues, which are meekness and humility, are forgotten in the magnificence of a priesthood of princes, combining their splendour and luxuries with their duties. On all sides we see monuments to Popes and Bishops; such as one to Pope Innocent XII., with fine bas-reliefs in marble. The Pope Gregory’s monument which has some fine sculpture on it in marble. Another wing ofthis huge building designed by Michael Angelo contains an altar enriched with alabaster, amethyst, and other precious stones. Over the altar is an image of the Madonna that is greatly venerated, as it is supposed to have been brought here from one of the early churches. Altars, crosses, and confessionals confront you wherever you go in this great cathedral; also, pictures adorn the walls where there is no sculpture. St. Peter raising Tabitha from the dead. See Acts, chapter 9, verse 40. “But Peter put them all forth and kneeling down prayed; and turning to the body, said, ‘Tabitha, arise,’ and she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up.”
Two porphry steps lead to the Tribune, about fifty yards long, where there is another altar, and over it four colossal bronze statues; on the right, the tomb of Urban VIII., on the left, that of Paul III. In one of the wings of this building there are eleven confessionals for strangers, and inscriptions indicating the nationality or language. On all sides we saw these relics of popery until we were sick of it. We could not visit the grottos, as time did not permit, we were very desirous of making a visit to the Vatican, but we could not for the same reason. We gathered from information gained in various ways, that the Vatican or Pope’s Palace isthe largest palace in the world. The Pope is allowed from Italy about £130,000 per annum, and the Peter’s pence, from many lands, amounts to as much as £20,000 per annum. The Vatican contains 11,000 rooms, there are also 22 court yards. The ground it covers is the size of a town. The museums, the picture galleries, the statues in marble, are worth many millions of pounds. It is enriched with bronzes, marble columns, and the best things that can be had from all lands. Paintings of the very richest and highest class from all the old masters. Massive gold and silver goblets, the gifts of kings and of princes. Ancient relics from Assyria and from Egypt. Some Egyptian mummies in sarcophagi with hieroglyphics, indicating the locality from whence they came. In the library are 26,000 manuscripts, about 19,000 are in Latin, 4,000 in Greek, and about 2,000 in the Eastern and Oriental languages, besides about 50,000 printed volumes. In one of the halls there is a bible of the fifth century, which is a great rarity. The gifts from kings, emperors, princes, presidents of almost all lands, which have been sent to the Pope are too many to name or specify. We left St. Peter’s, pleased with some things, grieved with others. The greatness of Rome’s intellectual power; her art in sculpture and painting; proofs of thiswe saw on all hands. She had, at one time, over 400 temples, most of them with floors of marble, great domes with wonderful frescoes, gorgeous beyond anything we could conceive if we had not seen it. Walls of marble, porphyry, jasper, precious stones, stones polished till they shine like a mirror. Pictures, priceless and innumerable. All this, side by side with the degradation of the people, as seen in their daily visit to the confessional; or to the holy water; or to seek a mass from the priest for some friend in sickness; or a more important one for the soul of some brother, sister, or friend in the agony of purgatory, and who must remain there until certain masses are said. All this means the lowering of the poor to the enriching of the rich. Rome, I say, is to be pitied in this thing, under the heel of the Pope. Her wealth is lavished on churches, priests, cardinals, etc., but her poor abound on all hands. At the very church door you have the extremes of lavish wealth in church decoration, and extreme poverty in many worshippers. We had a view of the Vatican from without; it seems one vast area of palaces, churches, temples, galleries, colonnades, etc. I suppose we have some fine palaces in England; there are some, I believe, in France, Germany, in Egypt; but nowhere in the world is there a palace so largeand costly as the Pope’s Palace in Rome. How unlike his divine Lord, “who had not where to lay His Head,” or his predecessor (allowing the expression) who said, “silver and gold have I none.” Mark Twain says of the place: “It is a perfect wilderness of statues, paintings, and curiosities of every description and every age. The old masters fairly swarm there. I shall remember the Transfiguration, by Raphael, because it was in a room by itself, and partly because it is acknowledged by all to be the first oil painting in the world. It is fine in tone and feeling, it is a beauty, it is fascinating. Acres and acres of walls and ceilings fairly papered with them. There is one thing I am certain of, with all the Michael Angelo’s, the Raphael’s, the Guido’s, and the old masters, the sublime history of Rome remains unpainted! They painted Virgins enough, Popes enough, and saintly scarecrows enough to people Paradise almost.”
Leaving the great St. Peter’s and the Vatican to return to our hotel for dinner, we noticed the mixed crowds jostling one another in the streets. The men seemed to be broad shouldered, and their rugged bronze faces and dark piercing eyes give you an idea that they look upon you with curiosity. Men dressed in home-spun blue cloth as a rule. Thewomen dress in colours, no unusual thing to see them apparently enjoying a feed of raw onions and salad with a good square piece of black bread. Here we passed a professional letter writer, sitting in the open-air in the street with a table before him on which are pens, ink and paper. Here he is ready to read or write letters for the unlearned, and they are by no means few in the city of Rome. Many a declaration of passionate love must have been whispered into the ear of this old Italian, to be transmitted to some village maiden on the mountain heights, or in some sequestered village. A rustic approaches the old scribe as we watch him, he has received an epistle from some Italian beauty far away. As he waits his turn he looks over the precious documents with wandering eyes. Oh! if only he could himself spell out its sacred contents. His cheeks are flushed, his heart throbs as he hands the paper to the scribe; and, as the old man reads, the smile plays upon his face, his dark eyes brighten with delight. Yes! she is true to the boy who is far away, what a joy to know their hearts beat in unison and in passionate love. What a strange task! that of the Italian scribe. Sometimes his task is to read letters that tell of separations by death; the scalding tear, the heart throbs, tell of grief and anguish, a life’s hope crushedout. A dear mother, sister or lover passed away. All these experiences go through the old scribe’s hands daily. Young Italy, however, is awaking to her need as a nation, for education and for the training of the young.
Our hotel is our home of rest, and we certainly enjoyed it after hours of travel and inspection. Sights seen that we had never dreamed of. Pictures, sculpture, arch, column, colonnades, so profuse and so attractive that we forgot we were tired until we turned away for a break and a rest.
Again, we are on the tram, and down one of the principal boulevards, past shops, bazaars, cafes, hotels and churches, to the Pont du Angelo, over the Tiber. This is a lovely piece of workmanship, built of solid masonry, and on the pont, or bridge, there are six statues on each side on pedestals, representing the various architects, sculptors and painters of ancient Rome, and as we crossed the bridge, right in front of us we saw the castle of St. Angelo, erected by one of the Emperors for his own tomb, and for the tombs of his successors. As most of the important buildings in Rome, it is lavishly decorated with marble sculpture, more fitted for a palace than for a mausoleum.The Arch of Titus, RomeIn the tenth century it was turned into a fortress and fell into the hands of thebarons, who, during a long time, made use of it against the city itself. It is said that Clement VII. took refuge in it in the year 1527. To-day it is a beautiful temple. The floor is very largely composed of Italian marble; on the staircase, on our right on entering, is a fine statue of Michael the arch-angel, in a niche. In another room are some fine paintings by Pierin; another room still retains some of the implements of torture of the Inquisition. On the top stands the bronze statue of the arch-angel Michael, placed there in 1770; it is said it is placed there in memory of a vision of St. Gregory the Great. According to tradition, when Rome was severely visited by a pestilence, and while the Pope was going in procession to St. Peter’s, to obtain the cessation of the scourge, he saw, on arriving at this bridge, an angel on the top of the mausoleum, in the act of replacing his sword in its sheath, as a sign that the visitation of the scourge was at an end. On account of this the castle was named “The Castle of the Holy Angel.” “The Arch of Titus” is another fine specimen of the builders’ art. Erected to him by the people in homage of his great victory in Palestine over the Hebrews, and of the destruction of the Holy City of Jerusalem, in the year 79A.D., and consecrated to his memory by his successor in the year 81A.D.It has somewhat suffered by the ages that have passed over it; still, it is marvellous that it has so long withstood the ravages of the iron tooth of time. There is a fine frieze in the inside and some fine bas-reliefs. One, that of the Hebrew prisoners, and Titus’ triumphal march to Rome. In Macaulay’s we find the following verses, evidently written on the subject of Titus’ victory:
“Valerius struck at Titus and lopped off half his crest,But Titus stabbed Valerius, a span deep in his breast.Like a mast snapped by the tempest, Valerius reeled and fell.Ah! woe is me for the good house that loves the people well!Then shouted loud the Latins, and with one rush they boreThe struggling Romans backward, three lances length or more:And up they took proud Tarquin, and laid him on the shield,And four strong yeomen bore him, still senseless from the field.But fiercer grew the fighting around Valerius dead,For Titus dragged him by the foot, and Anlus by the head.Twice tenfold round the body the roar of battle roseLike the roar of a burning forest, when a strong north wind blows.Now backward and now forward, rocked furiously the fray,Till none could see Valerius, and none knew where he lay.For shivered arms and ensigns were heaped there in a mound,And corpses stiff, and dying men, that writhed upon the ground,And wounded horses kicking, and snorting purple foam,Right well did such a couch befit a Consular of Rome.”
“Valerius struck at Titus and lopped off half his crest,But Titus stabbed Valerius, a span deep in his breast.Like a mast snapped by the tempest, Valerius reeled and fell.Ah! woe is me for the good house that loves the people well!Then shouted loud the Latins, and with one rush they boreThe struggling Romans backward, three lances length or more:
And up they took proud Tarquin, and laid him on the shield,And four strong yeomen bore him, still senseless from the field.But fiercer grew the fighting around Valerius dead,For Titus dragged him by the foot, and Anlus by the head.Twice tenfold round the body the roar of battle roseLike the roar of a burning forest, when a strong north wind blows.
Now backward and now forward, rocked furiously the fray,Till none could see Valerius, and none knew where he lay.For shivered arms and ensigns were heaped there in a mound,And corpses stiff, and dying men, that writhed upon the ground,And wounded horses kicking, and snorting purple foam,Right well did such a couch befit a Consular of Rome.”
There are also, in this palace, the seven-branched candlesticks, and many other objects taken from the Temple of the Holy City.
Next we saw the triumphal arch of Constantine (the first Christian Emperor of Rome), this seems to be the best preserved of all the arches we saw, although now it has been standing since 311A.D.We learned it was erected by the people of Rome in honour of the great victory achieved over Maxentius at Ponte Mollo. The central arcade is about thirty-feet high, the side ones are about twenty-feet. There are four beautiful columnsof Corinthian marble which support the pillars upon which stand some fine statuary representing some of the “Dacian prisoners,” “Trajan’s entry into Rome after his victory in the east,” “The rest on the Appian Way,” “Trajan bringing help and succour to the poor children,” “Trajan speaking to his soldiers.” Under these are bas-reliefs which represent hunts and sacrifices. On the opposite side of the street we noticed a large pedestal which we were told held, in ancient times, a colossal statue of Nero, executed in bronze. After his death it was thrown down and replaced by another called “The god of the sun.” This, however, has been allowed to fall into decay; the iron tooth of time has done its work, and only the pedestal remains.
The Navona Square or Piazza calls for a remark or two, it is the next largest to St. Peter’s. There are three fine fountains in the square, These seem to be of a modern design and workmanship. One represents Neptune coping with a sea monster, surrounded by sea horses. In the basin rises a kind of rock; on the four sides of which are representations of “The Danube,” for Europe; “The Ganges,” for Asia; “The Nile,” for Africa; and the “Rio de la Plata,” for America. The rock is surmounted by a very neatly-cut obelisk. The first and largest fountain is about 100-feethigh, and when in play has a very beautiful effect. The Church of St. Mary is but a plain looking building from the outside. We approached with little interest, but when we got inside we found it to be a perfect museum of painting and sculpture; also, there are many tombs of celebrated cardinals. The guide showed us a picture said to be the work of St. Luke, and in all seriousness, told us it was supposed to have the power to work miracles still. We did not stay to ask whether that power was ever evoked. There is a chapel inside, the architecture of which was planned by Raphael. The design of big mosaics on the vault of the dome is simply marvellous. There is a representation of the heavenly bodies in their fullest splendour; also a fine statue of Jonah by Raphael. There is attached to this church a monastery, in which reside the monks of the Order of St. Augustine. It is said to have been the residence of the famous Martin Luther, during his visit to Rome. He entered the city through the Porto del Popolo, and knelt down as soon as he had passed the gate, crying most sincerely, “I salute thee, Oh! holy Rome!—Rome, venerable through the blood and the tombs of the martyrs.” And then he went straightway to the convent, and there he celebrated mass. And after the experiences he wentthrough during his stay in the city, what he had seen, and what he had heard—he said, on passing again through the same gate out, with bitterness and grief, “Adieu, Oh! City, where everything is permitted, but to be a good man.” Every place we visited brought some reminders of the sad fall of the papacy from real Christianity.
To the Berbine picture gallery, was a visit which gave us much pleasure, as we saw pictures from the ablest of artists. The paintings by Michael Angelo and Raphael, Francesco and Tiziano. “Adam and Eve driven from Paradise,” by Guido Reni; “Christ and the Doctors of the Church,” by Dürer; “The Holy Family,” by Andrea; “The Annunciation,” by Bronzine; and many others that we considered marvels of the artists’ brush. There is also within this gallery a very large room as a library in which, we learned, there are over 30,000 books in print, and over 8,000 in manuscript, by Dante, Galileo, Lasso and others. The wonders of these places filled us with such admiration, we could stay and look until quite weary, so we take tram to hotel again for rest.
Church of the Trinity, Rome
The Church of the Trinity: St. Maria: Church of Onesemus: The Grand Corso: The British and Foreign Bible Society: Outside view of the Quirinal: Nero’s House: Leaving Rome: Scene at a wayside station: Arrival at Florence: Visit to the Cathedral.
The wonderful Church called the Church of the Trinity, up a very broad staircase of some 330 steps; then a very fine piazza or square, and an obelisk, at the top of which they say is a piece of the cross on which St. Peter suffered martyrdom. In this square we found artists’ models waiting to be engaged. Some of them very pretty Italian peasant girls fresh from mountain homes, in costumes quaint and queer; old men with white beards and capacious cloaks; shepherd boys from the Campagna; bag-pipers from Abruzzi; also mendicants of more than one nationality; also vendors of wares of various kinds, principally small brooches, photo frames and pins, with nic-nacs that were considered to be attractive. A scene of very great interest to the Britisher. We left here to have a stroll in the streets, to watch withinterest the customs and habits of the people. Hotels almost without number; beer-houses, only a few; cafes, many; confectioners, many; chemists and doctors, fairly numerous; dentists, several at any rate; restaurants, many, and some on a very large scale; telephone call offices; lavatories; specialities, as jewellers who sell Roman pearls, mosaics, religious ornaments, bronzes, marble, etc.; porters standing in various places to give you a hand with a parcel; omnibuses running to the station from all parts of the city; carriages for hire at about eightpence per mile, English money. So we passed an hour in watching the ever changing street scenes, until tired, then to our hotel and to rest once more. Returning to our further inspection of churches, museums, and places of interest, we went to see the old St. Maria. This is a very interesting place, and is said to be built upon the site of what was Paul’s “own hired house in which he dwelt for two whole years,” see Acts, ch. 28, v. 30. It is said that on this spot, Onesimus, the runaway slave, was converted, and that he received the gifts sent by the Philippians and the Colossians, by Epaphroditus, which he so thankfully acknowledges. Philippians., chapter 4, verse 18. “I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, anodour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, well-pleasing to God.” Three rooms in the basement of the church are shown as the very rooms in which St. Paul and St. Luke taught and wrote. Col., chapter 4, verse 14.
Leaving this place we enter the Corso, the principal street of the city. To our surprise and delight we saw a depot of the British and Foreign Bible Society; the window full of Italian copies of the scriptures spread open, some showing clearly one passage, and some another; so that he who runs can read. We found we could buy the New Testament for threepence in English money. A separate gospel for less than one penny. It is not many years since when this would not have been allowed in Rome or in Italy. Before the Pope’s power was broken, I mean his temporal power, he did not allow a circulation of the Bible, nor did he allow a public assembly of heretics (Christians) within the city. Now, thank God, there are numerous Protestant Churches in the city. The Wesleyans have one or more churches. The Americans, the Lutheran, the Greek, the English church and others are now allowed the privileges not long since denied to them. We had the pleasure of an outside view of the Quirinal, the present residence of the King of Italy in Rome. It was at one time the residence ofthe Pope. It is an old building, 1574 is the date. It is said the Popes prepared this residence because the air was so fresh, and the neighbourhood so healthy. While the King is in Rome the Quirinal palace is not open to visitors. The gardens are on an extensive scale. Within the palace are sculpture, museums, library, paintings by Raphael, Michael Angelo and Luigi Serra. Some of the subjects are simply masterpieces. We went from the Quirinal to the Baths of Titus, erected by the Emperor of that name, it is said upon the same place where once stood the house of Nero. The excavators in 1811 laid bare many interesting facts concerning the times of Titus, about the year 80A.D.Only a semicircle can be seen showing the foundations, yet it seems to be clear that these are the only remains of the baths referred to. We left here feeling we were satiated with sight seeing, and our time for leaving Rome was near at hand, so we determined upon a few purchases. Then to our hotel to reflect, to think, to recall, if possible, to memory what we had seen and heard. To fill up our diary, to settle our hotel accounts, and to get ready to leave the “Eternal City.” We reviewed in our mind at leisure, where we had been, and what we had seen in Rome. And we read up history which tells us in thepalmy days of Rome, there would be within the city over 400 temples, and over 17,000 palaces, over 13,000 fountains, more than 30 theatres, 8 amphitheatres, 11 baths, some of which would accommodate some 1,500 bathers at once, 80 gilt statues, and over 3,700 bronze statues, 82 statues of figures on horseback, so we think of Rome in her imperial pride, when luxury lay on the lap of so many of her nobles. Since then she has been humbled to the dust. Many of these costly buildings and statuary are in ruins, but there is enough left to show her once illustrious position.
We had certainly made the best of the time at our disposal, so we leave thee, Oh! Rome! the great, the illustrious. “It may be for years, or it may be for ever.” We said good-bye, and soon we were en route for Florence. The scenery for some distance is not particularly attractive. The usual Italian villages, in some cases just a cottage or two, the tenants of which are out with their ox and plough, or a pair of donkeys and a rickety old cart, or the man is draining his farm. We saw about eight or ten women at a large stone trough by the side of a highway washing. It seems this is their custom, for the women of several families to have a joint washday, and go to the nearest clean flowing water.
As we proceeded northward, we noticed the country became more undulating and richer in fruits and flowers. The season for the grapes being ripe was just on, and we noticed as we journeyed, on all sides, grape vines; there seemed to be miles of them, and still, as we hurried along, more vineyards. Oxen in wagons in the rows of vines, were being loaded with the luscious fruit. Six white oxen in each wagon mostly. The husband, wife and children, all seemed to be engaged in plucking and loading the fruit. We passed scores of miles of vineyards of this sort. We stopped at a station called Cartona. I saw a typical Italian girl with a grape stall on the platform. I alighted and selected two large bunches of beautiful ripe grapes, and as I could not ask the price, not speaking Italian, I held out my hand with a number of coins of various value for her to take the cost of the grapes. She selected twenty centimes, that is about twopence in English money; so very cheap are grapes. The country is a lovely country and rich beyond compare. Our train, we could perceive at times, was climbing, so slow was the speed, but as we got higher the scene became more lovely; the Italian lakes in the distance; the towns with the usual Duomo or Church always noticeable.
Team of oxen in Tuscany
At every road crossing we noticed an Italian woman, usually aged, sat at the gate crossing, with horn in hand ready to give warning of an approaching train. About four o’clock in the afternoon we came in sight of Florence. The first view was entrancing. The city lies in a hollow, the surrounding hillsides are, here and there, dotted over with castles and mansions, each in their own lovely and extensive grounds. They were mostly of white marble. The river Arno runs through the city. Florence is essentially a city of flowers, as its name indicates. All around for miles castles, mansions, villas, gardens and shady nooks fill the soul with a consciousness that Nature here has bestowed her gifts of beauty in no stinted degree. Florence has been called, and I think very aptly, the Athens of Italy. This city possesses the memories of some of the world’s greatest men, “the priceless heirlooms of a glorious past.” Here the peerless bard, “Dante” sang his deathless song and made his lovely Beatrice immortal. Was it not from these very hills and fields on which we were gazing, that Galileo every night scanned the heavens to compel the distant orbs to reveal their secrets?
Here we see her peerless domes and towers rise in all their stately grandeur beneath a lovely Italian sky. We are now at the station. Alighting, we soon found the ’busfor “Hotel Minerva” (this we had selected before hand) so were soon once more settled for a little while. Our hotel was very comfortable, and we found mine host most gracious, and evidently most desirous to satisfy us, and so keep our patronage as long as possible. The rooms were lofty and furnished with taste, dinner served in good style, which included everything we could wish for. A look round the city for a little while, was our first thought, so out we went into the great open square, facing which is the Duomo or Cathedral Maria del Fiore, so called from the lily which figures in the arms of Florence. This vast pile of buildings was begun in the year 1298, and finished in the year 1462. It is stated it was built on the foundations of an earlier church. It is a grand example of the Gothic art. The length of the building is 185 yards, and its width, 114 yards. The dome is 300 feet high, and with the lantern 352 feet. On the 8th of September, 1298, a representative of Pope Boniface VIII. blessed the foundations of this new grand temple in the presence of the “Gonfaloniere Borgo,” many bishops, “the chapter,” all the Florentine clergy, the captains of the arts, and the magnificent and sublime “Signori of the Republic,” as they were called. The words with which the community gave charge of this sumptuousbuilding were, literally translated, “to make it so magnificent and so sublime that it would be impossible that it should be surpassed.” And it seemed to us that for size and strength and adornments, few can compare with it. Many vicissitudes occurred during the building—wars, deaths of architects, etc.—till in the year 1492 it was something like a completed building. In April, 1860, King Victor Emmanuel laid the foundation of a new facade, which was to replace one taken away, as the design was considered unsuitable. Above the south door is a Madonna between two angels. Inside we were struck with its massiveness, more than with its decorations. On the right there is a fine equestrian statue of John Hawkswood, of date 1384, an English soldier of fortune, who had served the Republic with unswerving fidelity. Over the portico is a fine picture of the Virgin Mary in mosaic. On the right side are some fine marble figures of great men of ancient dates. In the east nave are fine statues of St. John and St. Peter; a fine stained-glass window with most attractive and telling designs. Inside the great dome is a very peculiar, very grotesque frieze, by a great painter named Vasari, depicting the flames of hell and awful monsters around them. Also the heaven of delight and bliss.
Near the Cathedral is the wonderful Campagna or tower, which visitors through centuries have visited and admired. A distinguished visitor once said, “The Florentines should enclose this tower in a glass case, and only let it be on exhibition during the great festivals.” It is solid and strong, though it rises to the height of 292 feet. It has four stories, the lower ones are richly fixed with variegated marble, and covered almost with statues of illustrious men. A view of this tower from a distance is very fine. We had seen nothing like it before in all our travels on the continent.
Florence: Michael Angelo’s House: Baptistry of St. John: The Uffizi Gallery: The Tribune: A drive to the suburbs: Dante’s House: Dante’s Poems: The Gardens: Mrs. Browning’s description of Vallambrosa: Michael Angelo’s work: Galileo, his trial, etc.
As we had little time for visiting other places of interest, the day being now far advanced, we determined to give our minds and bodies a rest. So we entered a cafe for refreshment, we found them exceedingly clean and most obliging; we took what refreshment we needed, then went for a stroll on the streets to see the shops, and we found the city has some fine streets and shops of almost every kind. The city has a population of about 200,000. We were reminded frequently of some of the worthies of the city in sculpture or in painting. Michael Angelo, though not born in Florence, spent a great deal of his life here, and here some of his finest works were completed, and in Florence he died and was buried. At the corner of the Via Buonarotti stands the house in which he lived. It is now (like the houseof the immortal Shakespeare) a museum given to the city.
“Farewell,” said Michael Angelo, on setting out for where he was to undertake the finishing of the great St. Peter’s, in Rome. “Farewell, I go to try to make thy sister, but I cannot hope to make thy equal.”
About the old Baptistry of St. John, to which, we are told, all the children of the city are taken to be christened, there are two bronze gates at which a famous workman was employed forty years. Michael Angelo declared “these gates were worthy to be the gates of Paradise.”
1st design.
The creation of man.
2nd ,,
Expulsion of our first parents from the Garden of Eden.
3rd ,,
Noah after the deluge.
4th ,,
Abraham on Mount Moriah.
5th ,,
Esau selling his birthright.
6th ,,
Joseph and his brethren, and the law given on Sinai.
7th ,,
The walls of Jericho.
8th ,,
The battle with the Ammonites.
9th ,,
Queen of Sheba in Solomon’s palace.
I believe there is a cast of these gates exhibited at the South Kensington Museum.
The Uffizi Gallery or museum or both, where I should think may be found the mostwonderful collection of art to be found in the world. Even in Rome we had seen nothing to equal it. It contains over 13,000 paintings. Cameos and original designs without number. There are long corridors where statues of celebrated Tuscans fill the niches. There is sculptured marble, or painted canvas, of all imaginable beings in heaven or on earth. Emperors and kings, saintly Madonnas, angels, gods and goddesses, muses and nymphs; all may be found in this marvellous collection. And on the ceiling are frescoes setting forth the annals of Florence. In one of the halls stands a painting of Niobe with her sons and daughters clinging around her, victims of the cruel vengeance of Diana and Apollo. In another room are some angels surrounding a Madonna, making a lovely picture. There is a gallery in which are paintings of the painters of all nations, painted by themselves. Vandyck, with his clear blue eye, long hair and fair countenance; Raphael, looking sad and gentle and very sallow; Michael Angelo, simple yet sublime, he is in his dressing gown. We were simply surrounded and bewildered by the fascinating sights on every hand. There are cabinets also, containing rare gems, cameos and bronzes of all sizes and shapes. The Tribune also demands notice, as it contains vast masses of valuable treasures.One room is paved with the most costly marble. There are five masterpieces of antiquity. In the centre stands the Venus de Medicis, serene, pure, delicate, and perfectly lovely; another, the Dancing Fawn; another, “Apollino,” “The Wrestlers,” and the “Grinder.” There is also here, one of the finest and best of Raphael’s paintings, “The Glorious Madonna.” Two others by Titian. We soon became exhausted and weary, so we left the entrancing scenes for another day. To our hotel was but the work of ten minutes; safely housed. Table-de-hote dinner, to write up our diaries, to commend our lives and our loved ones to the care of our Heavenly Father, we slept. During the night there was a severe thunder storm, the lightning played round our hotel, lighting up the great square in front, but so far as we know, no damage was done. We rose in health, refreshed and ready for a good breakfast; this, the Italians know how to provide. Their coffee is the best I have ever tasted. Fish, eggs, cold meats and fruits in abundance. We made a fine breakfast, and after writing some letters and post cards we ventured out, this time for a drive to the suburbs. I soon found carriage and driver and made terms.
Mrs. Wardle near The Duomo, Florence
Before starting, however, I took a snapshot of my wife in the carriage, with the archway or part of thefacade of the Duomo for background. We passed through the principal parts of the city, and our driver pointed out the house, still standing, where Dante, the greatest of all the great poets of Italy, was born. It is very near to the church of Santa Croce, a very old building, but in its vicinity lies the dust of some of Italy’s noblest sons. Near here in the year 1865, on the 5th day of May, a vast concourse of people assembled to see the unveiling of a statue of Dante. It is 19 feet in height, and it is mounted on a pedestal 23 feet in height. This was the six hundredth anniversary of the poet’s birthday. Dante was not buried here, but at Ravenna, where he died in exile away from the city he loved so much. In the “Sheep-fold of St. John” as he called it. His life was full of strange vicissitudes, apparently more of cloud and storm than of sunshine. His father was in the legal profession, and this, Dante adopted, and studied very successfully at several schools in Italy and Germany. At an early age he fell madly in love with one, Beatrice, but she married another man, and left him with a great sore in his heart. He was called to bear arms against Ariezo and Pisa, where he served with great assiduity. He afterwards married, but not happily, at the age of 28. He had a family, however, and his first-bornbeing a girl, he called her Beatrice, after his first love. A civil war had been brewing for some time. Again Dante took the field, this time, unfortunately, on the weaker side, and a revolutionary government being formed, he, with other ringleaders who wished to resist the extreme pretensions of the Pope, were sentenced to be burned alive. He, however, managed to escape into Germany, where he wandered about from place to place, finding no settled residence, and desiring to return to his native city, but this was denied him. He died, as we have seen, in Ravenna. His daughter Beatrice was a nun in one of the convents, but to do some tardy justice to the noble bard, a sum of money was raised for her own special use. I can hardly leave this interesting subject without a passing reference to his poems, as are now principally read. The volume I refer to includes the “Inferno,” “The Purgatorio,” and “The Paradiso.” It is here surmised that Virgil and St. Bernard conduct Dante through these divisions of the universal world, to help him to write something that would show up the source of Italy’s ruin. The poem is a fine allegory, showing, as it does in the first part, a Panther, representing Florence or envy; a Lion, France or ambition; a She-Wolf, the Court of Rome or avarice; a Greyhound, Our Saviour or Hisvicegerent the Pope; Virgil, human wisdom; and Beatrice, heavenly wisdom. His representation of Hell as a dark valley, at the mouth of which is Limbo, and which are nine circles indicating nine different degrees of sin to be punished. The wise and good even are represented as lying in tears and sorrow, because they were not baptized. Purgatory is a step hill in the hemisphere opposite hell. Seven rounds have to be climbed before the seven stains of sin are washed away. At the top is the Garden of Eden. It is most interesting to follow Dante, as he ascends with his beloved Beatrice to Paradise, through the various heavens of the moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, the Sun, Jupiter, etc. The eighth heaven contains the triumph of Christ; and the Virgin Mary and Adam he makes to dwell there also. In the ninth heaven is a manifestation of the Divine Essence, viewed by three hierarchies of Angels. While these poems are allegorical, they are full of interest and show that Dante was greatly moved and influenced by “the things that are unseen which are eternal.” In his youthful days he paced the fields and groves of lovely Italy, writing sonnets to his beloved Beatrice. In his later years he had to eat the bread of bitterness, being an outcast from his friends and from the city he loved. The world,however, has been enriched by his poverty. A sight of the place where he was born has suggested to us this commentary. We left the place not without reflection upon the immutability of things that are earthly. From here our driver took us towards the lovely gardens across the river Arno, the gardens of Boboli; these are open to the public Thursday and Sunday. Approaching the bridge which spans this lovely river, we were struck with its massiveness as well as its beauty. It is called the Jewellers’ Bridge, as jewellers’ shops line the bridge on each side fully, except a very small break in the middle through which you get a very nice view of the river as it rolls along. A bridge further on is adorned with statues, and is considered the most beautiful of the seven that cross the Arno. When over the bridge the road is very steep; our driver left his box to give the horse the benefit. Now we seem getting into the suburbs, the road is lined with trees of all sorts; the acacia, the box, the walnut, the maple, the olive and many others, I do not think I could tell the names of them all. Up and up we went, in a semicircular fashion, until we gained the summit. When we had gone through the gate into the garden, the view was simply entrancing. Florence, with its towers and spires anddomes, lay like a fine panorama at our feet, and the river gliding gently through the city. The villages in the distances nestling amidst luxuriant foliage of trees and plants. The gardens around us full of beauty, adorned with statuary, and a profusion of moss and creeper and colour of flowers, we may never see again. Just across the river, we could see the tower of Galileo, where the great astronomer nightly watched the stars, or
“Moon, whose orbThrough optic glass the Tuscan artist views,At evening from the top of Fiesole,Or in Voldarno, to descry new lands,Rivers or mountains, in his spotty globe.”
“Moon, whose orbThrough optic glass the Tuscan artist views,At evening from the top of Fiesole,Or in Voldarno, to descry new lands,Rivers or mountains, in his spotty globe.”
Dante And Beatrice, Florence
Farther out the Casine, or the Hyde Park of Florence, could be seen. Perhaps no better description can be given than by Mrs. Browning:
“You remember, down at Florence, our Casine,Where the people on the fast days walk and drive,And through the trees, long drawn in many a green way,O’er roofing hum and murmur like a hive,The river and the mountain look alive.You remember the Piazzo there, the stand placeOf carriages abrim with Florence beauties,Who lean and meet to music as the band plays,Or smile and chat with some one who afoot isOr on horseback, in observance of male duties.’Tis so pretty in the afternoon of summer,So many gracious faces brought together;Call it rout, or call it concert, they have come hereIn the floating of the fan and of the feather,To reciprocate with beauty the fine weather.”
“You remember, down at Florence, our Casine,Where the people on the fast days walk and drive,And through the trees, long drawn in many a green way,O’er roofing hum and murmur like a hive,The river and the mountain look alive.
You remember the Piazzo there, the stand placeOf carriages abrim with Florence beauties,Who lean and meet to music as the band plays,Or smile and chat with some one who afoot isOr on horseback, in observance of male duties.
’Tis so pretty in the afternoon of summer,So many gracious faces brought together;Call it rout, or call it concert, they have come hereIn the floating of the fan and of the feather,To reciprocate with beauty the fine weather.”
Along the valley of Vallambrosa, as you look across, pine forests, lawns and mountains combined, make a scene the fairest fair Italy can show. Milton, in his “Paradise Lost,” alludes to this valley, speaking of the fallen angels who
“Lay entranced,Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooksIn Vallambrosa’s, where oh! Etrurian shadesHigh over arched embower.”
“Lay entranced,Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooksIn Vallambrosa’s, where oh! Etrurian shadesHigh over arched embower.”
This was one of the favourite walks of Dante, where he loved to wander and muse on his lovely Beatrice. The views from this elevation on all sides were very beautiful, and we left it with a feeling we could never again gaze on scenes so delightful.
Returning from these lovely scenes, in and from the Boboli Gardens, over the samebridge we turned to the left and passed the Mozzi Square, where is the Mozzi Palace. A very large building that has connected with it, we were told, a very fine picture gallery, but we had not time to visit it. We then came to the Necropolis of St. Miniato, a church considered to be one of the oldest on the continent. The Florentine Republic considered its splendid military position, and ordered Michael Angelo to fortify it. He therefore threw a strong rampart around it, with strong bastions which were provided with cannon. It is said that many Christian martyrs died for the faith and were buried in this church. The tower was greatly damaged by Charles V., but Michael Angelo saved it from utter ruin. Rev. D. M. Pratt says of Michael Angelo:
“A master mind before the marble stood,Fresh quarried was it, rough and all unhewn,To other eyes it seemed a shapeless stone;To his, a stately form and beautiful.Chisel in hand he wrought and what he sawCame forth a statue, living and divine.An artist stood and gazed on fallen man:He to the soul, what to the marble roughWas Angels, he saw and sinful manA seraphs form. He wrought, and forth there cameManhood divine—the lifeless took on life,Oh! for the artist’s eye! In every manGod’s image dwells, and he who sees the ChristSees God in man restored, and with him seeks to bringHis thoughts to life in saving men.”
“A master mind before the marble stood,Fresh quarried was it, rough and all unhewn,To other eyes it seemed a shapeless stone;To his, a stately form and beautiful.Chisel in hand he wrought and what he sawCame forth a statue, living and divine.An artist stood and gazed on fallen man:He to the soul, what to the marble roughWas Angels, he saw and sinful manA seraphs form. He wrought, and forth there cameManhood divine—the lifeless took on life,Oh! for the artist’s eye! In every manGod’s image dwells, and he who sees the ChristSees God in man restored, and with him seeks to bringHis thoughts to life in saving men.”
A poet has written:
“In Santa Croce’s holy precincts lieAshes which make it holier, dust which isEven in itself an immortality.Though there were nothing save the past, and thisThe particles of those sublimitiesWhich have relapsed to chaos, here reposeAngelo’s Alfieris bones, and hisThe starry Galileo with his woes;Here Machiavelli’s earth returned to whence it rose.”
“In Santa Croce’s holy precincts lieAshes which make it holier, dust which isEven in itself an immortality.Though there were nothing save the past, and thisThe particles of those sublimitiesWhich have relapsed to chaos, here reposeAngelo’s Alfieris bones, and hisThe starry Galileo with his woes;Here Machiavelli’s earth returned to whence it rose.”
The tomb of Galileo calls for a passing remark, as he dared to contravert the old world notions of a central earth fixed in space, immovable with planets curling round it. The church had stood by the old theory for ages. If now they adopt Galileo’s theory, where is their infallibility. And so ignorant monks shut him up in prison and burnt his books in the public market place, and led out this great philosopher in mockery before a gaping crowd, with a wax taper in his handand a halter round his neck, and demanded he should recant his opinions. Amidst the jeers of his friends and the awful threats of his enemies, he was induced to go through a certain form of recantation, in which he was required to declare “With a sincere heart and faith unfeigned, I abjure, curse and detest the said errors—I swear for the future never to say anything verbally, or in writing, which may cause to any further suspicion against me.” Rising from his knees he whispered: “But it does move for all that.”
Appalling catastrophe in Italy: Messina: Savonarola, the enthusiastic preacher: His defiance of the Pope: His excommunication: His cell, etc.: His martyrdom: Raphael, his genius as a painter: Some of his works: The old Protestant Cemetery: Our leaving Florence: Journey to Bologna and on to Venice.
While I am here writing of the beauties of Italy, its fertile plains, its sunny skies, its lovely lakes, its great works of art and its still greater artists, a newsboy is calling out in the streets: “Appalling catastrophe in Italy.” An earthquake killing not thousands merely, but tens of thousands. What! is that fair land devastated, and death swept by such a calamity? Is it true that loveliness and danger lie so near together? What! is there no spot on earth where we may be absolutely free from danger? Here in lovely Messina and Reggio, I passed them on board the S.S. “Benares” about two years ago. The sun shone brilliantly on the scene, a lovelier it would be difficult to describe. On my left Messina, with its marble buildings glistening in the sun. Temples and towers, churches and barracks, all giving signs ofstrength and beauty to the fair city; on our right Reggio, which appeared to be a city of great beauty and prosperity. Mount Etna in the distance, slumbering for a time. Stromboli as we passed was alive hurling up stones, fire and smoke. Now the cities named are practically wiped out.The Daily News, of December 31st, 1908, says: “Yesterday, the total of the dead was calculated as from fifty thousand to seventy-five thousand. To-day it is two hundred thousand. This morning’s news helps us to form a clearer idea of the awful scene as it occurred. It was early morn just before daylight, and all the beautiful towns along the coast of these historic straits were still asleep. Death came suddenly and unawares. By five successive shocks, the cities were toppled down, and where they had stood great columns of dust were rising. Men, women and children, soldiers in barracks, the sick in hospital and prisoners in gaol were killed together as they slept. They died like ants in a blown up nest.” A survivor from Messina says: “The town is nothing but a dust heap, even the railway station is swallowed up, the railwaymen are nearly all killed.” Another says: “It is too horrible to describe.” The Pope has shown the greatest anxiety; has even asked permission at the Quirinal to transmit massages to the sufferingand the bereaved. He also summoned to the Vatican the Director of the Bank of Rome and had with him some private conversation, and arranged for the sum of £40,000 to be sent at once. Our own King Edward sent to the King of Italy messages of condolence and sympathy. The navies and soldiers of England, France, Germany and others are giving assistance in extricating sufferers from the debris, and feeding the hungry, and erecting temporary shelters and generally doing all that can be done to mitigate the distress and grief and pain. Money is being sent liberally by all the Christian nations at least. So all feel as nations and as individuals that “One touch of sorrow makes the world akin.” It is at such a time that the brotherhood of nations asserts itself. All racial barriers are swept away in the face of such a terrible catastrophe. The latest news is that no less than 220,000 have perished, as many inland towns have suffered most severely. The cathedral and churches, with all their valuable works of art, have been totally destroyed. Scenes simply indescribable are enacted and too sad to relate. So we see the uncertainty of things that are on earth.
Notwithstanding the natural beauty of the surroundings, before we left the fair city of Florence, we must needs do a little shopping,and make some further investigations into the interests and associations of the place. The convent of San Marco is a place worth a visit, and is open on receipt of a small fee or gratuity. Here is the cell of Savonarola, in which he was confined before the martyrdom of flame. Here is a fine portrait of the man who dared to face even death in his defence of the truth. Here are some of his manuscripts, traced with his own pen. Here are his tunic, girdle and crucifix, and even a charred piece of wood from the scene of his martyrdom. Such sights fill the soul with thoughts of what men have endured to rescue the truth from Papal tyranny. Of Savonarola it may be said, he was a great reformer, a religious enthusiast, and a martyr. Born at Ferrara, in 1452, he early joined the religious order of Dominicans at Bologna. At first his career as a preacher was not marked by any unusual event, nor did he meet with great success, but on his appointment to the Duomo, crowds came to listen to his preaching, and indeed so eloquent did he become and so effective that, at times, his discourses were interrupted by the masses of the people sobbing and crying in their pews. He became so popular that the people pressed round him in the streets to kiss his garments. He went forth like a flaming herald of the cross indefiance of pope, cardinal or priest. It is stated that under his influence the morals of the city became purified. The children were specially cared for, as many as 8,000 at one time were banded together in a sort of republic, and were called “the children of Christ.” The Pope did his very best to suppress this holy work, but it was useless to try to stop so God inspired a man as Savonarola. When this was ineffectual, they said make him a Cardinal; give him a red hat, so make of him a friend. He answered from the pulpit of St. Mark’s: “I will have no other red hat than that of martyrdom, coloured with my own blood.” Then he was summoned to appear in Rome. This, however, he refused to do. Then came the ban of excommunication, but this brought with it no terrors. His answer to it is: “he who commands a thing contrary to the law of Christ, is himself excommunicated.” “I may have failed in many things, for I am a sinner, but I have not shunned to declare the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They threaten to burn me or fling me into the Arno, that gives me no concern.” Ultimately he was arrested and charged with impiety and sedition, of these, however, there was no proof shown, until a certain man named Ser Cocone presented a forged document, and our hero was condemned to be burned. And onMay 23rd, 1498, this noble saint of God passed away. Three platforms were erected in front of the palace; Savonarola was taken up to the central one, clad in his priestly robes. Then piece by piece the Bishop removed his vestments in the presence of the multitude, and pronounced the degradation. “I separate thee from the church militant and from the church triumphant.” “Nay,” said the bold and daring saint, “from the church militant, if you please, but not from the church triumphant, that is more than you can do.” He then mounted the pile and gave utterance to the following sentence; “Oh! Florence, what hast thou done this day.” Soon there was nothing left but the ashes of Savonarola. His spirit leapt into the chariot of fire, and he was with the martyr throng before the Throne. By order of the Commune, his ashes were thrown into the river Arno, so that no relic could be found of the patriot and martyr.
We could hardly leave Florence without giving some reference to Raphael, one of our world’s greatest painters. Though not born in Florence, he spent a good deal of his life in the city. His education in the art was completed in Florence. He was born in the year 1483. Michael Angelo was to him an attraction and an inspiration. It is said thatso fine was his genius, that in his time of tuition he could surpass his tutors. His most famous pictures are “Christ in the attitude of prayer on the Mount of Olives,” and “St. Michael and St. George,” which are now in the Louvre, at Paris. The Pope gave him a grand reception on his entering Rome; and, while there, he executed some very fine pieces for his Holiness, which so pleased him that he ordered Raphael to give him other proofs of his artistic skill. He then painted on the Vatican walls figures of “Poetry,” “Theology,” “Justice,” and “Philosophy”; also “The fall of Adam,” “Astronomy,” “Apollo,” and “Philosophy.” On another wall he painted “Fortitude,” “Prudence,” “Temperance”; and on another place “The Emperor Justinian delivering the Roman law,” “Peter’s deliverance from prison,” “Moses viewing the burning bush,” “Jacob’s dream,” etc. It is said he turned the Vatican into a picture gallery. His pictures are in many countries and in many cities. He died at the early age of thirty-seven, on the same date he was born, and his body was conveyed to the Pantheon, in Rome, where it now rests. It is said of him, he was most affable, kind, and generous to a fault. He had an open manly countenance which inspired all who met him. Florence, fair city, must be creditedwith the training and making of this bright gem of the painter’s art. Indeed, this city has given to the world some of the finest men of mind and soul the world has ever known. We felt proud to walk its streets and to know we were on ground that should be reverenced for the purity and greatness of the lives of the men we have referred to. We could not readily say good-bye, but time presses, and after a visit to the old Protestant Cemetery outside the Porta Pinta, which to Britishers is hallowed ground, as there are here the graves of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the poetess to whom we have already referred our readers; also “Theodore Parker,” and “Arthur Hugh Clough.” This “city of the dead” was closed in 1870, and a new cemetery has been opened for Protestants about a mile outside the city. To try to describe the beauties of all the suburbs of Florence would require an abler pen than mine. So we must close our account at the “Minerva,” take our last night’s repose and leave for Venice.
We rose early in order to have a full day of interest and experiences. We left this lovely place in the forenoon, and as our train was about to leave, a lady traveller who spoke good English boarded the train and entered our compartment. We soon became friendly and familiar. She spoke our language, shewas of a kindred spirit, though not from England, she was of English stock and we soon discovered she came from Dunedin, New Zealand (Miss M. Himmel). She had visited Balmoral Castle in Scotland, and the Trossachs, Inverness, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Also Dublin in Ireland, The Giants’ Causeway, Bantry Bay and the lovely Lakes of Killarney. She spent three months in our great city of London, and visited every important church, museum, picture gallery, etc. Also Norway with its weird and awe-inspiring scenery. Rome with its telling old world stories in stone, marble and bronze. Naples, Milan, Venice, Florence, Frankfort-on-the-Rhine, Bingen, Berlin, and to Cologne. Then to Paris, the gay city of France, to see its Notre Dame, its fine Boulevards, etc. Two weeks’ sight seeing in Paris. Then to London and next Liverpool. Then for Dunedin, New Zealand and home. We found her well read and of wide experience, a lady both in manners, education, and by birth. We could exchange ideas and enjoy each others company as the train sped on towards Venice. The railway intersects a rich tract of land at the base of the Apennines. On our right the picturesque castle of Monte Mario, near which, we learned, at one time, the Florentine Republicans with their troopswere defeated and taken prisoners by the troops of Cosino, in the year 1537. We soon found out our train was climbing, by the speed she made, up the great Etruscan Apennines we mount, now through a tunnel, then across a fine aqueduct. Again and again this occurred, while the sides of the vast mountain ranges, we noticed, were covered with trees—pines, poplars, chestnuts, olive, fig, mulberry, and others. The plains of Tuscany, which were now below us, are reputed to be the richest in Europe. Wheat is largely cultivated. Rice is also sown in considerable quantities, and is used by the peasant for food. The use of buffaloes as beasts for farm use are common. No less than 3,000 are in constant use on the farms and vineyards of Tuscany. We saw waggons drawn by six buffaloes frequently. The grapes of the neighbourhood, through which we were passing are said to be of an exceptional quality. As we passed villages on the slopes of the hills, we saw the natives in their simplicity of dress and manner, at work and at home. At every gate where there was a crossing of the railway there was a woman, mostly aged, with a horn to warn travellers of the approaching train. Reaching a wayside station our train stopped, and I noticed on the platform an Italian girl with a rude simple table or stall on whichwere large bunches of grapes, I presumed for sale, so I alighted from the train and seized two bunches about one pound each. As I could not speak to her in her language, I took some change from my pocket and offered her the cost, so she took what she wished. She took twenty centimes, that is the value of twopence, so cheap are grapes in Italy. At this station an Italian lady, and evidently two daughters, came into our compartment with a little fancy dog, which one of the daughters carefully nursed. They brought with them one or two large baskets. In a little while one of them took from a basket a very fine roast chicken, from which she began to feed the dog with the nicest pieces off the breast. When the animal was satisfied they spread napkins on their knees, and evidently enjoyed the rest of the fowl. Some rolls and butter and grapes for dessert, and also some bottles of wine were produced from the baskets. Later, as we needed refreshments, we had to be satisfied with a few sandwiches, but the ladies seeing we had no napkins, at once offered theirs, and, indeed, spread them over our knees, with the greatest delicacy and politeness. Then they offered us, and pressed us, though in a language we did not understand, to have grapes and wine with them. Their kindness and manner of givingexpression to it touched us very much. They left us as we arrived at Bologna station, but our friend Miss Himmel, however, remained with us. We did not stay long enough to look over the town, but from its appearance it is a large and prosperous city, having a population of about 100,000. The cathedral is one of very great antiquity and importance. There are 130 Roman Catholic Churches and twenty monasteries in this city. There is a very fine Piazza or Square, called Victor Immanuel Square, in which is a fine bronze statue of Pope Gregory XIX. St. Petronio is the largest church in the town, in the Gothic style. Over the principal entrance is a bronze statue of Pope Julius II., with the keys and a sword in his hand, by Michael Angelo. We left Bologna after a short time of waiting, and were soon speeding through lovely and fertile tracts of country. The Adriatic on our right, not near enough to see, but the air seemed impregnated with its ozone. Our approach to Venice became apparent as we crossed the lagoons with a roar and a rattle, the numerous arches (miles of them) told us we were near the city.