Our first walk carried us to the Piazza del Gran' Duca, and here rose the huge square, massive-looking building, the Palazzo Vecchio, with great, projecting battlements, and the tall, mediæval-looking watch-tower rising up at one corner, so familiar from the many pictures that have been drawn of it. Right about in this vicinity are many superb works of art in the open air—an equestrian statue of Cosmo I., the Fountain of Neptune, with the god in his car drawn by sea-horses, with nymphs, sea-gods, and tritons sporting about the margin of the basin; and on one side of the door of the palace stands a colossal group of Hercules slaying Cacus, while on the other is a statue of David by Michael Angelo.
This reminds me that we hear this greatartist's name at every turn in Florence, see his portrait in every picture store, and prints of his works in the window of every print shop; for are we not in Florence, the birthplace of Angelo—not only of Angelo, but of Dante, Petrarch, Galileo, Boccaccio, Leonardo da Vinci, the artist, and Benvenuto Cellini, the wondrous worker in metals? But I am forgetting the beautiful works of art that stand all about one here in the open street, which I stood gazing at in silent admiration.
In a sort of grand arcade, or "loggia," as it is called, which looks like a house with the two lower stories taken out, and formed into three great arched porticos, is a broad stone platform, gained by an ascent of half a dozen broad steps, and in it some fine statuary. One of the most prominent is a fine colossal bronze, one of Perseus with the head of Medusa; a grand figure executed by Cellini, representing the helmeted figure standing with one foot upon the fallen monster, while with one hand he holds aloft the decapitated head, and the other grasps his sword. The pedestal of this statue is elegantly ornamented. In each of its four sunken panels are small figures of mythological deities. Next comes a marble group of a helmeted warrior bearing away a female figure in his arms, entitled the Rape of the Sabines, Hercules slaying a Centaur, Judith slaying Holofernes, and the Dying Ajax, supported by a Greek warrior. There are also six colossal female statues, and a couple of grandly-sculptured lions. We were full tilt on the way to visit the Uffizi Gallery when these groups arrested us, and were a new sensation—sculpture after so much painting, and a good preparation for what we were to see in that celebrated gallery.
At our first visit here, impatient, we pressed on to the room known as the Tribune, which contains some of the greatest works of art in the world. Those that every looker-in at a city shop window has seen copies of are here in the original. The room is lighted from the top; but it does not appear the most favorable place for an exhibition of these great works. First greeting the visitor as he enters the door is the celebrated Venus de' Medici, one of the most graceful and elegant statues in the world, the pure, modest beauty ofwhich is wonderful. The easy grace of attitude, the modest beauty of the face, and perfect symmetry of the whole figure are faultless. Its height, five feet two inches, was less than I supposed it would be, and the hands, which are a modern restoration, are bad, as all writers agree.
The Apollino, another beautiful figure, shows the numerous seams in it, where it was joined together, after having been broken by a large picture which fell upon it a few years since. And the Dancing Fawn is one of those indescribably natural-looking and faultless pieces of antique sculpture that makes one wonder if we really do have any great sculptors in these modern days; for the position, and every feature, limb, and muscle are so faithfully rendered as to make the marble seem so endowed with life that it would scarce astonish the spectator if it continued its agile motions, and assumed a dozen other attitudes upon the pedestal.
Then comes the group of the Wrestlers, admirably executed, and technically and anatomically correct in its sculptured delineation of straining sinews and swelling muscles. The spectator is more than astonished at the wonderful art displayed in the well-known figure of the Slave overhearing Conspirators while sharpening a knife. It may strike many, as it did ourselves, as the best subject possible for the sculptor's chisel—this listening figure pausing at his work, as if just stricken into stone, his attention suddenly arrested while at his occupation, the intent, eager, listening look, the natural attitude of the figure, the earnestness in the face, and the parted lips—all make you think that there is only one thing more the artist could have done with his marvellous touch, and that was, to have imparted to the figure life and speech, for it seems as near a living thing as statue can be.
We linger long in the Tribune, loath to leave these superb creations, that reveal new beauties the longer we gaze upon them. On the walls of this room hang works from the pencils of Titian, Michael Angelo, Andrea del Sarto, Correggio, Guido, and Vandyke. You are surrounded by priceless gems of art, the choicest works of the whole Uffizi collection.There was Titian's Venus, a marvellously beautiful figure, upon the canvas; Del Sarto's Madonna and Child, a grand and beautiful painting of most exquisite coloring; Albert Dürer's Adoration of the Magi, the heads of the figures magnificent studies, and grand in their execution; Paul Veronese's Holy Family; Raphael's St. John preaching in the Desert; and Guido's Virgin, besides many others.
And then we wandered, hour after hour, all through this wonderful gallery, said to be the richest and most varied in the world, though less extensive than the Louvre or Vatican—twenty-five rooms, besides corridors, vestibules, &c., crammed with works of art. Murray says that the original collections of the Medici family were dispersed at various periods. The collections of Lorenzo the Magnificent were sold in 1494, and their palace plundered in 1637; but Casimo I. recovered much of what had belonged to his ancestors, and his successors rendered this collection of art what it now is—the most interesting in Europe.
Busts of this Medici family are placed in the vestibule approaching the gallery. Here also are bronze statues of Mars and Silenus, and an infant Bacchus; and as you get into the vestibule great bronze wolf-dogs guard the door, and huge statues of the Roman emperors look down upon you. It would be useless to attempt a description of the collection, which is divided into selections of different schools of art in different rooms.
The corridors are occupied both as sculpture and picture galleries. The paintings in them are historical series of the Tuscan school, and the statuary a splendid series of busts of the Roman emperors, statue of a Gladiator, Apollo, Urania, Cupid, Bacchante, &c.; Michael Angelo's bass-reliefs, and his statues of the Drunken Bacchus and Faun; also his Wounded Adonis and Donatellos, David as the Conqueror of Goliah. Then we have a room filled with curious Roman sarcophagi, with curious sculptured bass-reliefs, representing their chariot races, gods, and sea-nymphs.
There is a room full of pictures of the French school of art, two of the German and Dutch schools, another of the Dutch and Flemish schools, with pictures of Van Ostade and Gerard Dow, and two rooms with magnificent pictures of the Venetian school, such as Paul Veronese's picture of Esther before Ahasuerus,—only think what a grand picture this makes, with its crowd of figures, full of life and spirit,—Giorgione's Judgment of Solomon, and Tintoretto's Christ entering Jerusalem. Then come two other intensely interesting rooms—autograph portraits of painters, many of them painted by themselves. There are Guido and Vandyke, Rembrandt, Titian, Tintoretto, Da Vinci, and Michael Angelo, and the portrait of Raphael, which has been so frequently copied and engraved in pictures, that we recognize it instantly, as the eye wanders over the crowded walls.
There is so much in this Uffizi gallery to satisfy every variety of artistic taste! Just think, for instance, of the pleasure of looking through a whole room full of the original drawings of the old masters, with their autographs attached! Here were parts of Michael Angelo's architectural plans, his rough sketches in red chalk or charcoal; Titian's drawings—rude outlines, from his portfolio, that on the canvas grew to voluptuous beauty; also, those of Rubens, Albert Dürer, Tintoretto, Del Sarto, and a host of others; and these that we see hung upon the walls are only a mere selection of specimens from the wealth of this great collection of original sketches, which contains nearly twenty-eight thousand in all.
But paintings and sculpture are not the only wonders of the Uffizi gallery. Coming out of the gallery of original drawings, we find a room of medals and coins, containing a set of nearly nine thousand imperial medals, a set of coins of the mediæval and modern Italian states, and a set of gold florins from as far back as the year 1252. We could not but notice that more than one custodian or official regarded us with a curious eye as we wandered from room to room, and halted, catalogue in hand, pencilling down, all over its pages, the notes from which these pages are written, as if wondering whether we were noting down anything that was illegal or not, so suspicious do they appear, in these foreign countries, of anybody who appears to be taking notes or drawings. We loitered all among this surfeit of artistic beauty, through the whole of that portion of the day it was open, only to find, at last, that we had not seen half of it. So we returned to the charge again, note-book in hand, for another day's enjoyment.
On our second visit we stumbled, first on the Etruscan collection—two rooms full of Etruscan vases and sepulchral urns, of ancient make, and very beautifully decorated with antique paintings, such as battles of the centaurs, Grecian warriors and combats, all very interesting, as giving, in many instances, the costumes and manners of the ancient Greeks, painted at the time of their existence. There was also a very extensive collection of ancient black vases, found in Etruria, and in the Necropolis of Sarteano, the graceful and elegant shapes of which form the copies of many of our richest and most beautiful vases of modern manufacture. The celebrated Medicean vase, or Hadrian vase, which was found in Hadrian's villa, near Tivoli, of course claimed our attention, and also a curious collection of urns, in which the ancients used to enclose the ashes of their dead.
"Niobe dissolved in tears." How much we have read and studied about Niobe, and how writers delight to quote her name, especially whenever tears are spoken of! I remember getting a thwack at school for pronouncing the name of the tearful mother,Nigh-oab, soon after another youngster had been corrected for the same blunder. The story of Niobe and her children was often taken as a subject by the ancient artists, and the most celebrated of the ancient representations was that which filled the temple of Apollo Sosianus, at Rome, and was found in that city in 1583, and now preserved here in a room very properly devoted to it, called the Hall of Niobe. The group consists of the mother, who holds one of the children upon her lap, while thirteen statues of other sons and daughters are grouped about in various attitudes. It is useless to attempt to convey the impression made by such masterly specimens of ancient art—figures which may have been shaped by the chisel of Praxiteles, certainly by some sculptor who wrought as though he felt he was portraying a domestic tragedy he had been an eye-witness of, and not a mythological legend. The deep, touching grief of the mother, the admirably natural figure of one of the dying sons, that almost causes the spectator to rush to his aid,—in fact, the whole story is told in marble, and with wonderful effect, making a powerful impression upon the beholder.
Turning from this great work of the ancient sculptor's art, our eyes fall upon the original, of which we have often seen copies, Snyder's painting of the Boar Hunt; then the spirited picture of Henry IV. at the Battle of Ivry,—King Henry of Navarre, whom all the school-boys will recollect, from the poem which is so popular with them for declamation:—
"The king has come to marshal us,In all his armor dressed,And he has bound a snow-white plumeUpon his gallant crest."
"The king has come to marshal us,In all his armor dressed,And he has bound a snow-white plumeUpon his gallant crest."
"The king has come to marshal us,
In all his armor dressed,
And he has bound a snow-white plume
Upon his gallant crest."
Another spirited and beautiful figure painting was the Entrance of Henry IV. into Paris after the Battle of Ivry.
Among other riches of this great collection is a cabinet of gems, where were a wonderful casket of rock crystal, with seventeen compartments, in which were elaborately wrought figures representing events of the Passion; an elegant vase of sardonyx, on which Lorenzo de' Medici's name was engraved; another cut out of a solid block of lapis lazuli, &c.
Then came a great cabinet of ancient bronzes; and it is curious to see how these specimens of antique Grecian art—figures, vases, and bass-reliefs—form models for the most graceful, popular, and beautiful specimens of artistic work and ornament at the present day. In this collection, besides the bronze figures of Jupiters, Venuses, and other deities, and various beautiful bass-reliefs, discovered in ruined cities, we found a most interesting collection of ancient Grecian and Roman arms and helmets, candelabra, household utensils, &c. Here were spear-heads of Roman legions, that marched hundreds of years before Christ, the weights and measures of artisans, the helmet of the warrior, the bronze brooch of the Greek maiden, and the bronze greaves of the Etruscan soldier. The hall of modern bronzes gave us figures by artists of modern times, such as Ghiberti's Sacrifice of Abraham, Giovanni of Bologna's Mercury, a bust of Cosimo I. by Benvenuto Cellini, an angel by Donatello, &c. And all this grand collection, this wealth of art, where student may study, the dreamer may dream, sight-seer may drink his fill, the artist educate his taste, and the lover of the beautiful feast to his heart's content, is free to all who desire to look upon it. It is hard, indeed, to tear one's self away from the treasures that are heaped up here; but there are other sights to be seen, and more galleries, and churches, and palaces to be looked at.
An interesting visit was that made by us to Michael Angelos's house, or the Palazzo Buonarroti, as it is called. It belongs to the city, having been bequeathed, with its contents, by the great artist's last male relative at his death, and contains many interesting relics, much of the contents and furniture being kept in the original position. Here we passed through the rooms, which open one out of the other, and have their walls adorned with choice pictures by great painters. One room has a series of paintings representing the principal events in his life, and another is hung with pictures relative to members of the Buonarroti family; for, be it known to many who suppose that Michael Angelo is the entire name of the artist, that it was Michael Angelo Buonarroti. He had intended before his death, which occurred in Rome, in the ninetieth year of his age, to have sent all his personal property to Florence, where a house was to have been purchased to receive it; but this was not done; so at his death the Florentine ambassador at Rome, acting under instructions, took possession of and forwarded the mementos which we looked upon, and which are now deposited in this "palace" of the family, which was not, as many travellers understand, the last residence he occupied previous to his death. That event took place in Rome, on the 18th of February, 1564; and on the 11th of March following his body was returned to his native city of Florence, after thirty years of voluntary exile, and entombed in the Church of Santa Croce.
Around one of the rooms in this interesting mansion hung drawings and sketches by the great artist's own hand, and in another were various models in plaster, wax, and terra cotta, of portions of his great works; also of his own make, such as a model in wax of his statue of David, a bass-relief of the Descent from the Cross, &c.; then we were shown, in a little boudoir, a collection of his plans and drawings, including his pencil sketch of the' Last Judgment, painted for the Sistine Chapel; also several interesting manuscripts, and other autographic memorials, and the little oil-cups, flasks, and other utensils that he used in work upon painting.
In a little side-room, scarcely larger than a closet, we were shown a table at which he was said to write, and from one of the drawers were taken the slippers which he used to wear, and which we were reverently permitted to handle; nor was this all; his two walking-sticks, with crutched handles, and the sword worn at his side on great occasions, and other interesting personal relics, were exhibited. This room is designated, by the guide, "Michael Angelo's Study," though when he studied there the guide was unable to communicate; still we had seen enough personal mementos of the great artist to render our visit interesting enough not to cavil at trifles; and there being no question of the authenticity of the relics, we allowed the guide to communicate harmless little fictions regarding the house unquestioned.
First of all the churches in Florence we visit the magnificent Duomo, or Cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore, the magnificent swelling dome of which is a prominent and imposing object in all the views of the city seen from the surrounding heights. Notwithstanding the numerous grand architectural wonders I had looked upon, each new one, even after six months of sight-seeing, excites admiration and interest. These vast piles of architectural beauty, the wealth of artistic execution in their sculpture, grand conception, skill in grouping pillars and arches, taste in decoration, and withal the overwhelming vastness and grandeur of these great monuments of the old cathedral-builders, can but have an effect even upon the most ordinary perception.
This great cathedral was commenced in 1298, and was one hundred and sixty years in building, employing, during that time, many of the most celebrated of architects in its construction, and serving as a model, or rather giving Angelo his ideas, for the model of St. Peter's at Rome. The cathedral appears built of marble, and as you enter from the bright glare of an Italian sun into its cool interior, and upon the tessellated pavement of rich marbles, seems dark and sombre. This is accounted for, in some degree, by the small size of the windows, and the deep color of the rich stained glass with which they are filled; this glass is said to have been made in 1434, and is superb, both in color and designs.
The first view we had down the four great arches of the nave was grand, and the distance seemed more than it really is; but then fancy the size of a cathedral the height of whose nave is over one hundred and fifty feet. This great Duomo is five hundred feet long, the top of its cross, three hundred and eighty-seven feet from the ground, and its transepts are three hundred and six feet in length; the height even of thelittleside-aisles is nearly a hundred feet. Above all looms the great cupola, about one hundred and forty feet in diameter, and one hundred and thirty-three feet high, which is extremely grand and beautiful. Its interior is painted in fresco, with figures of angels, saints, Paradise and Purgatory.
The grand altar is directly under this great dome, and behind it is an unfinished group, representing the Entombment by Michael Angelo. Around the sides of the church were tombs and monuments, which our guide would gladly have explained to usseriatim; but to make them interesting required a more intimate knowledge of Italian historythan we are willing to claim; but we did stop opposite the bust of Giotto, whose skill was called into operation in building a large portion of the cathedral; the tomb of Antonio d' Orso, a bishop, who, when the city was besieged, called around him officers of the church, and, in full armor, manned the walls against the enemy; and the picture of Dante, upon one of the walls, in red robe, with laurel crown on his head and book in hand, familiar from the engraving we have so often seen of it. A climb up, to view the marvellous beauty of the great dome, gave us not only a good idea of its vastness,—it being the largest cupola in the world,—but also a superb view out towards Fiesole.
The Campanile, or bell tower, situated quite near the cathedral, is an elegant structure of Grecian architecture square in form, with beautiful Gothic windows, and is built of light-colored marble, and adorned with rich sculptured work and decoration; four hundred and fourteen steps carry you to the summit, the height being two hundred and seventy-five feet. We took another view here of the country, also at the symmetrical dome of the cathedral close at hand, inspected the six huge bells that are swung up here, and descended to view the two statues of the artists of the cathedral, which are placed in the square. That of one of them has a plan of the cupola upon his lap, from which he is looking up at the cathedral itself as completed.
The superb Baptistery of St. Giovanni, of whose bronze doors we had heard so much, was close at hand, and next claimed our attention. It is built of black and white marble, and the chief beauty inside, which is a regular octagon, is the splendid Corinthian columns and the beautiful mosaics in the cupola. The floor is paved with black and white marble, in most curious, complicated, and elegant designs. But the great attraction of the building is its splendid bronze doors. Michael Angelo's speech about them is inserted in every guide-book, and repeated by every cicerone who shows them. He said they were worthy of being the gates of Paradise; and as no tourist's description would be complete withoutthe expression, I have here introduced it. They are, indeed, wonderful and elaborate works of art. One contains groups of figures, wrought out of the bronze, representing scenes in the life of St. John in the upper compartments, and allegorical figures of the Virtues in the lower. This is the gate completed in 1330, and the Florentines do not seem to take great care of its beauty, for the figures were sadly filled up with dust and dirt, and needed a most thorough cleansing when we saw them. The other two are filled with scenes from the Scriptures, such as the Creation of Man, Noah after the Deluge, Queen of Sheba visiting Solomon, Esau selling his Birthright, &c. The execution of all these figures is marvellous; and we are told these portals, which are not, as may be supposed, of large size, were the result of forty years of patient labor on the part of the artist (Ghiberti) employed upon them. The work seems such as would be more in place, however, upon a casket or smaller surface than the doors of a church, being too elaborate for such a position, and spread over too much surface to receive the careful examination which their merit requires.
The most noted church in Florence is that of the Santa Croce, founded in 1294, and celebrated as being the burial-place of many great Italians—Angelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, and others. But whoever expects that the cathedral mausoleum of these illustrious ashes is one of architectural grandeur will be somewhat disappointed, as he comes to a huge, ungainly brick structure, which seems utterly unworthy to enclose the illustrious dead that have been interred within its walls. The interior, lighted by stained glass windows, contains many interesting monuments—Angelo's, with his bust and allegorical statues of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture; a huge monument to Dante, with the genius of Poetry deploring his death; that to Machiavelli with an allegorical figure of History; a monument to Alfieri, executed by Canova.
There are monuments to various great scholars, naturalists, and historians—Galileo; Lami, a Florentine historian; Targioni, a great chemist; an elegant one to Leonardi Bruni, a great scholar, who died in 1444; Michele, a great botanist; Nobili, a philosopher, &c. At one end of this church, which is four hundred and sixty feet long and one hundred and thirty-four wide, is a series of chapels, rich in frescoes, paintings, and other works of art, among which we find the usual scriptural paintings, such as Assumption of the Virgin; Coronation of the Virgin; Madonna and Child; also fine frescoes by Giotto. The Nicolini Chapel is elegantly decorated with marbles, and contains fine statuary, including noble figures of Moses and Aaron, and various allegorical figures; and so we wander from one chapel to another, gazing at frescoes and paintings, bass-reliefs, monuments, and ornamental carvings, till sated with art and fatigued with gazing.
The Church of San Lorenzo we must visit, to view: the wonders it contains in monuments from Angelo's chisel. In the new sacristy of this church, which is a monumental chapel designed by Michael Angelo, are his two great marble monuments, one to Lorenzo, father of Catherine de' Medici, and the other to Giuliano de' Medici. Each of these monuments is a casket or sarcophagus supported by two colossal reclining figures on each side, and surmounted above by colossal statues of the deceased in armor, seated, with a background of pillars, cornice, and elegant architectural design. The two colossal reclining figures on Lorenzo's tomb are called "Day" and "Night," and those on Giuliano's "Morning" and "Evening." All of these four figures were of wonderful power, and make a strong impression on the spectator; but there are two more.
Upon the top of Giuliano's tomb sits his statue, that of a Roman general partly clad in armor, with a truncheon lying across his lap, and his head turned on one side, as if thoughtfully gazing at something in the distance. On Lorenzo's sits a figure we recognize instantly as one we have seen a hundred times in bronze, in shop windows, and upon marble clock tops; but did we ever recognize in the base copies the marvellous beauty and the grandeur of expressionseen in the original? A man in full armor, seated, absorbed in thought, his face resting upon his hand, and that face beneath his over-shadowing helm, so full of deep, quiet, meditative thought, that you involuntarily wait for a play of the features to reveal the deep, calm workings of the great mind behind it. The whole attitude of the figure is unstudied, graceful, and natural—the most natural attitude of a great warrior absorbed in profound meditation. It was hard to tear yourself away from quiet, wondrous admiration of this superb statue.
The first thing one inquires for on shopping excursions in Florence is the Florentine mosaics, those ingenious specimens of painting in colored stone, in breast-pins, bracelets, or sleeve buttons. As all know, these mosaic pictures are made by joining together small pieces of stone of the natural color into figures of flowers, fruits, animals, and birds, the stone being first sawed by fine saws into very thin veneers, and the design fitted upon a background of polished slate. These differ from the Roman mosaic, inasmuch as the color of the latter is artificial; the workmanship of the Florentine is also more elegant. Tourists are apt here, as elsewhere on the continent, to be imposed upon by venders of cheap and spurious imitations of originals, and will find that the really beautiful and artistic ones, although surprisingly cheap in comparison with the prices charged in America, cost a tolerably good sum, for the manufacture of them is tedious, requiring much care and patience. Besides, there were so many American tourists, before the present war, constantly passing through Florence, as to make a constant good, fair retail demand for them. Cheap ones could be purchased from two to ten francs each, of course unmounted, while the price of the more beautiful ranged from fifteen to sixty francs. We purchased an elegant one for a lady's pin at forty-five, which, as usual, was marked fifty, and which a native might possibly have bought for forty. The difference in the price of Italian and American labor was discovered in the price charged by a Boston jeweller in setting up this bauble in the plainest possible style, which nearly trebled its price.
After having visited the mosaic shops, the tourist is, in a measure, prepared for the elaborate specimens of the art which are exhibited in the construction of the Medicean Chapel, which is attached to the Church of San Lorenzo, and which is the most extravagant and costly interior of its kind that can possibly be imagined. It is a huge octagonal room, surmounted by a beautiful cupola elegantly painted in fresco; the scenes are of various scriptural subjects, such as Adam and Eve, the crucifixion, resurrection, last judgment, &c.
The lofty sides of this chapel or costly mausoleum, to the grand ducal family, are completely sheathed in the richest marbles, elegantly polished jasper and chalcedony, glittering agate of different colors, malachite, and lapis lazuli. All around, rising tier above tier, are sarcophagi and cenotaphs of the Medici, wrought from the richest and costliest stone, polished to a mirror-like surface, and decorated with unparalleled richness. At different points in the walls were the armorial bearings of different families, the shields, the richest and most beautiful Florentine mosaic work imaginable, even carnelian and coral being employed in some of the coats to give the proper shadings to the elegant emblematical designs. The sarcophagi are inscribed each with the name of the illustrious personage whose ashes they represent the casket of, the remains of the different grand dukes being deposited in a crypt below this chapel. A representation of a large cushion, upon which rests the ducal crown, all carved from colored stone, is a most wonderful work of art, and the beautiful tomb of Cosimo II., by John of Bologna, rich and elegant. This wondrous funeral chamber, in costly marble, sparkling with precious stones and elegant decorations, is said to have cost over seventeen millions of dollars, and, as a distinguished writer remarks, "recalls our youthful visions of Aladdin's palace."
He who takes pleasure in visiting old churches and cathedrals may keep tolerably busy for many days, even weeks, in Florence; as for ourselves, we found the plethora of scriptural pictures, architectural effects, and wondrous carvings, memorial cenotaphs, and historical relics was beginning towork confusion in our mind, and destroy the pleasant effect of those already viewed; it was, therefore, not without reluctance that we gave up our design of seeingallthe churches in Florence; indeed, we cannot undertake, in the space of these pages, to attempt description of all that we did see in this city, so crammed with objects of interest to the lover of art or enthusiastic tourist. The old church and convent of San Marco, with its pictures by Fra Angelico, and its convent, into which no female tourist is admitted; Santa Maria Novella, full of pictures and frescoes; Santo Spirito and others, will give the traveller all he wants of the wonders of Florence's religious edifices, and he may also find, as we did, that there is apparently more thoroughly honest support, or we may say blind attachment, to the Romish church by its adherents in the city of New York, than in this Roman Catholic Italian city. The better portion of the common people have lost respect for the idle priests by whom they have been surrounded, and several with whom we conversed did not hesitate to express their hopes in favor of Garibaldi, and that be might ere long "drive out the pope from Rome, who ought to wield no temporal power."
The carriage-driver, who drove us about to various sacred edifices, and who spoke French tolerably, bent his knee reverently when passing the high altar, but, on finding the portals of one church closed, left, with not very pious ejaculations, to find the attendant priest to admit us, vowing that they did more eating than kneeling, more drinking than praying, and were of more injury than service to Italy. Rather strong expressions these appeared to us from an Italian Romanist, in one of the strongholds of the church; but judging from recent accounts from Rome, some of this pious individual's wishes respecting the head of the church appear likely to be gratified.
The surfeit of art in Florence fairly confounds the American tourist who has any taste that way, and who has resolved to give, in his fashion of reckoning, the liberal time of eight or ten days to seeing the city and its treasures. The splendid Pitti Palace contains a better collection of paintings, as a whole, than the Uffizi Gallery. They are also well arranged; and O, boon to sight-seers! chairs and sofas are placed in various places, where one may rest the tired limbs and aching vertebræ.
Besides vestibules, corridors, &c., there are fifteen grand halls, named from the heathen deities, and each elegantly decorated in great frescoes on the ceiling, illustrative of the deity for which it is named. Thus the Hall of Mars has its ceiling decorated with battle scenes, and allegorical figures of War, Peace, and Victory. The Hall of Jupiter has a grand painting of Hercules presenting some other individual to the Thunderer, and the Hall of the Iliad has scenes from the Homeric poem.
Here, in the Hall of Venus, we saw great views of coast scenery from Salvator Rosa's pencil, Titian's Marriage of St. Catherine, and splendid landscapes from the industrious brush of Rubens.
In the Hall of Apollo are a splendid Bacchus by Guido, a Virgin and Child by Murillo, portraits by Raphael and Rembrandt.
In the Hall of Mars are Andrea del Sarto's Joseph and his Brethren, two pictures of great beauty—Guido's Rebekah at the Well, a St. Peter, also by Guido; and here also is another one of those celebrated pictures, known the world over from the engravings of it that are distributed by thousands throughout Christendom—the Madonna del Seggiola, or Sitting Madonna, the Mother seated with the infant Saviour in her arms, and infant St. John at her side. The rare beauty of these little infantile forms, and sweet, holy, motherly expression of the mother's face, the lovely tenderness of the attitude, and withal, the wondrous expression of beauty upon the children's faces, one can only see in the painting, for no idea of its artistic power can be had from any engraving I ever saw.
In the Hall of Jupiter the Three Fates by Michael Angelo, a picture of great power, at once arrests the attention, and a grand and beautiful figure of St. Mark, by Fra Bartolomeo, is a creation one can almost bow in reverence to. Then there is a portrait of a lady with a book, painted by Leonardo da Vinci, which excites admiration by its exquisite coloring and lovely beauty. In this room is a large picture of an animated and somewhat singular scene by Rubens, which is described in the catalogues as nymphs assailed by satyrs, in which the latter are behaving in a manner so disagreeable that you long to get at the lecherous rascals with a bayonet or a cowhide.
The Hall of Saturn contains some of Raphael's finest productions. Prominent among them is the Madonna del Baldachino, in which she is represented enthroned, seated at the summit of a flight of steps at the end of a temple, and beneath a canopy which is being drawn aside by two angels. Four church dignitaries in their robes stand at the foot of the throne, near which are two angels. The picture is of interest apart from its beauty, as being one of the earlier works of the great artist. Among his other pictures in this hall are the portrait of Pope Julius II., a superb piece of coloring, his portrait of a Cardinal, and the Vision of Ezekiel.
Another fine picture of the Virgin Enthroned is in the Hall of the Iliad, painted by Fra Bartolomeo. Here also are two pictures of the Assumption by Del Sarto, a full-length portrait of Philip II. of Spain by Titian, Carlo Dolce's St. John the Evangelist and St. Martha, a noble figure of a Warrior by Salvator Rosa, a Holy Family by Rubens, and Susanna and the Elders, a fine composition, by Guercino.
Next comes the Hall of Jupiter, and in this the pictures of the rarest merit are Fra Bartolomeo's Holy Family, Raphael's lovely painting of the Madonna and Child, and Carlo Dolce's painting of St. Andrew.
The Hall of Ulysses is rich in pictures from the pencils of Carlo Dolce, Salvator Rosa, Andrea del Sarto, Rubens, Titian, and Tintoretto.
The Hall of Prometheus, besides holy families, virgins, and saints by the great masters, shows us magnificent tables of Florentine mosaic of immense value, and the cabinets andcorridor adjoining have a large collection of choice articles ofvertu, cabinet paintings, and a grand colossal bust of the first Napoleon by Canova.
Then there is the Hall of Justice, with its complement of paintings, including Sir Peter Lely's portrait of Oliver Cromwell; the Hall of Flora, containing the statue of Canova's Venus—an exquisite piece of sculpture, grace and beauty in every line of its form. Other halls and cabinets, which I will not tire the reader's patience by enumerating, but each of which was rich with gems of art, the choicest of the great masters.
Not only were the walls, which were hung with these treasures, of interest, but the frescoes on the ceilings of the grand apartments, which were superbly executed. The gods and goddesses of heathen mythology, and allegorical figures, crowded the space above—an army of wondrous giants, attracting the visitor's gaze upwards till both neck and spine are weary. The costly mosaic tables are wrought with figures of birds, fruit, and flowers, and their value is measured by tens of thousands of dollars. Then we have bronzes and statuary, elegant miniatures, Sèvres vases, carvings, and articles ofvertu, making the whole of this beautiful palace one treasure-house of art. Attached to the palace are the beautiful Boboli Gardens, with their picturesque walks and arbors, elegant statues, plashing fountains, and grand groups of statuary, wonderful plants, beautiful vistas of embowered walks, and magnificent terraces and vases, which will tempt one for hours with their picturesque beauty.
Determined to feast our fill of fine art, we also visited the Academy of Fine Arts—an interesting collection of beautiful pictures, ancient and modern, forming in itself one of the great attractions of Florence, to say nothing of the interesting antiquities of the Egyptian Museum, the literary curiosities of the Laurentian Library, or the wonders of the great Museum of Natural History.
Of course we wandered through the streets of Florence, visited Doney's celebrated café in a broad street, which at five in the afternoon is nearly shielded from the sun by the shade from the tall buildings; and then it is that the young men, the young bloods of the city, begin to come down to the cafés for their daily lounge, and ladies and gentlemen to eat the luxurious ices and delicious confectionery, and watch the strollers. Out-of-door life becomes quite brisk at from five to six, and everybody seems riding and walking, and they keep up the latter, as we found, till a late hour of the night; for the windows of the room of our hotel, looking upon one of the great streets, gave us the full benefit of that unceasing clatter of feet, that lasts in these places till long after the noise of vehicles has ceased, and the Campanile bells begin to chime the first hours of morning.
We found the Cascine a delightful resort of a pleasant September afternoon. This is a beautifully laid out park along the banks of the River Arno, where a pleasant ramble may be had beneath the deep shade of forest trees and on velvety-green turf. But the chief attraction in the afternoon is the drive along its great carriage roads, to view the numerous equipages of every nationality and description that frequent them. It is really an interesting study to view the solid old establishments of English residents, with driver and footmen, the young English bloods driving those heavily-timbered vehicles of theirs, which they seem to have invented for the purpose of taking their valets out to ride, and showing the neatness of their livery, the length of their whips, and the points of the horse attached to the clumsy gundalow. Then there were beautiful coroneted barouches, of great taste and elegance, officers in rich uniforms on horseback, and crowds of pedestrians—an ever-shifting, ever-changing scene. To get views of enchanting beauty, pictures in Italian sunshine, ride up the hill, and past the beautiful private residences, till you reach Fiesole Fortress, a thousand feet above Florence, where you may look down upon its roofs and spires, the surrounding country, the luxuriant gardens of the private villas upon the hill-side, the winding Arno, and the peaks of the Apennines in the distance.
The grounds of private residences and villas just out of Florence were invisible from the road, by reason of the high walls which surround them; and it is only after we really leave the city behind that we get fair eye-sweep of these delightful places, which add so much to the attractiveness of the outskirts. We chanced to be in Florence in the grape season, and the heaps of this luxurious fruit that were piled up in the market-places were pleasant to look upon—Muscats, sweetwaters, black Hamburgs—great, luscious bunches! Half a dozen cents would buy a lapful of them. Then there were peaches, piles of figs and pomegranates, and other fruits. The Italian flower girls, whom we have read of so often, and seen so romantically represented in pictures, are, in reality, bold, hard-featured women, with nothing picturesque or pretty about them, persistent in their importunities, and often with gaunt want written in their features. They are most numerous on the Cascine, when the band plays, offering their bouquets at the carriage windows and to passers by.
But we must leave Florence and its attractions, not, however, without a kind hand-grasp with Hiram Powers, the American sculptor, who, although he has lived in Italy thirty years, is as loyal and true an American as one new come to Florence. His beautiful statues of California, Faith, Hope, Charity, the Greek Slave, &c., in various stages of work, from the rough ashler to the perfectly developed figure, and all the departments of the sculptor's work-shop, were shown to us by the great artist in working cap and apron, for he delights to meet his fellow-countrymen, though I fear they must make sad inroads upon his time during the travelling season; this, however, may be compensated for, in a degree, by orders received for copies of his works from visitors. The beautiful busts of the Faith, Hope, and Charity figures are popular with those who wish to preserve a specimen of the great sculptor's work, and can afford one hundred guineas to gratify their taste in that direction.
One of the earliest pictures of scenes in foreign lands that I remember to have looked upon, was the Leaning Tower at Pisa; this and the renowned Porcelain Tower at Pekin always came in for a good share of wonder and speculation; the latter, when a boy, I firmly believed to be built of precisely similar material as that of the tea set of a certain aunt in the country, which she only paraded on state occasions, and which being thin, delicate, and translucent, no piece was intrusted to my juvenile fingers, which were only permitted to embrace a china mug that appeared amazingly cheap in comparison.
That old picture, in the geography of the Leaning Tower, which awakened a desire to see it never to be extinguished, is like dozens of other similar wood-cuts, which make an indelible impression upon the mind of youth, and you feel, when gazing upon the reality for the first time, like greeting an old acquaintance; or rather the impression is like the first personal introduction to a correspondent whom you have known many years only by letter.
Though the general form and appearance of the Leaning Tower of Pisa were familiar in my mind, I was not prepared for the surprisingly graceful beauty of the structure, which is of white marble; and though it was built nearly seven hundred years ago, it is remarkably clear and fresh-looking. The very decided lean is at once observable on approaching it; indeed, you experience something of an uncomfortable sensation on being at the side where it appears to be ready to fall. Its beauty consists in its being a perfect cylinder of fifty-three feet in diameter, and one hundred and seventy-nine feet high; this great cylinder being formed of eight regular tiers of columns, supporting graceful arches, one above the other, and forming as many open marble galleries running round the tower, the whole surmounted with a graceful open-arched tower or belfry, giving it the appearance of a tall marble column sculptured into circles of open arches and pillars.
We started for the summit, an easy ascent of two hundred and ninety-five steps, occasionally going out upon the outside galleries, which project some seven or eight feet on each story, till we reach the belfry, where seven bells are hung, the largest weighing nearly twelve thousand pounds; this tower, as is well-known, being the companile, or bell-tower, of the cathedral close at hand. A few moments among the bells, and we climb above them to the summit of the tower, where the iron rail that protects the edge is grasped nervously as we approach and look over the leaning side, where, without its aid, the feeling is, that one would positively slip off from the slant; indeed, a glance downward and at the tower itself, from this point, produces a terrific sensation,—that it is slowly moving from the perpendicular on its course to the earth below. It is, therefore, quite natural that most tourists should take their views of the surrounding country from the top of the Leaning Tower, as we did, from its upper side.
The view from the summit is very fine, taking in the city of Pisa directly beneath, the surrounding country, distant mountains, and hill-sides, with beautiful villas and vineyards. Far off in the distance, in one direction, we saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean, twelve miles and more away, heaving in the sunshine, with the white sails of ships gliding upon its bosom, and the city of Leghorn at its shore, with the masts of the vessels in port, and its light-house, all distinctly visible. After a thorough enjoyment of the scene, we descended to view the cathedral, Campo Santo, and Baptistery.
Here, in one grand square, within a stone's throw of each other, are the four wonders of Pisa; the great Duomo, or cathedral, the Baptistery, the Campo Santo, and the Leaning Tower—standing in a magnificent group by themselves in the open space, rendering all else near them shrunken, petty, and insignificant by their beauty and superb finish. These glorious structures seem like the newly-created wonders ofsome magical workman, who has placed them here together in the quiet old city for the tourists of all nations to come and gaze upon, admire, wonder, and depart.
The cathedral is an elegant specimen of beautiful architecture in marble. Like all buildings of the kind, it is built in the form of a Latin cross, and is three hundred and eleven feet long in the nave and two hundred and thirty-eight in the transepts. The height of the building is one hundred and twelve feet, and above its first story rises a series of pillars supporting arches, the last two of a series of four, when the façade is viewed from the square, making the building to look like a square structure lifting a Grecian temple into the air upon its lofty walls, or like an end view of that ideal picture that used to be delineated as Solomon's Temple in the old family Bibles.
The great dome rises from the centre, surrounded by a ring of eighty-eight pillars supporting an elegant ring of pointed work above them, and surmounted by a cupola. Inside the scene is elegant; the great centre nave, over forty feet wide, with twenty-four Corinthian columns of red granite, twelve on a side, and each one a single block of stone, twenty-five feet high, on a great pedestal over six feet high, and above these another series of columns, smaller and more numerous, forming the upper cloister corridor, or "Nuns Walk," as they call it in the old English cathedrals, all lifting the grand roof ninety feet above the pavement.
In the centre, on four great arches, rises the grand dome, richly decorated; on either side are the aisles, their roof supported by fifty Corinthian columns, while above, the roof gleams with mosaics set in golden ground-work. On every side are interesting works of art which will attract the attention; elegant paintings, among them those of Andrea del Sarto; the high altar, a rich structure in costly-wrought marble, the flowers, running vines, and chiselled cherubs beautiful to look upon; the rich carved wood-work of the stalls, in the choir; the stained-glass windows; the rich frescoes of the cupola; elegant monuments, statues, and beautiful chapels, with their rich altars and paintings, all contribute to render the interior elegant and attractive. At one end of the nave, as we were passing out, we were shown the great bronze chandelier, suspended from the roof by a cable nearly eighty feet long, the regular swaying of which is said to have suggested the theory of the pendulum to Galileo.
"What!" said I to the guide, "is this the very lamp?"
"The very same, monsieur."
"But it appears too huge, too heavy to swing."
"Ah, monsieur, it moves quite easily."
But I was an unbelieving Thomas; so, lingering behind the group, when the guide's back was turned, I reached up, and with my umbrella gave the lower part of the great bronze a strong push. Down came a shower of dust from the creases of the great cable; the huge lamp began a grand, majestic swing, and I was ready to exclaim, in the words of the great mathematician himself, "Yet it moves;" and it did "move quite easily," continued its oscillations, back and forth, to such an extent that I thought it safe to move myself at once from beneath the huge pendule, which I did forthwith, quite satisfied that it swung for Galileo, and might come down for myself.
This Duomo was completed in the year 1118, and the baptistery, which we next visited, was founded in 1253, as an inscription upon it informed us. It seems that a cathedral in those early days, notwithstanding its vast size, generally had a superb tower erected for its bells,—a structure by itself,—and another of grand proportions for the baptism and christening of children. The baptistery here at Pisa is a perfectly round building, of marble, looking like a great cathedral dome set upon the ground; but it is a dome one hundred and seventy-nine feet high and one hundred feet diameter inside the walls, which are nearly nine feet thick.
The exterior above the first story is surrounded by rings of elegant pillars and pointed pediments. The whole of the interior seems sheathed with polished marble, so exquisitely matched and joined as to appear almost seamless. Youstand, as it were, in a huge dome, hollowed out of marble. A grand circular font, fourteen feet in diameter, stands in the centre. We saw here the magnificently carved pulpit, executed by Nicolo Pisano, in 1260. It is hexagon in form, supported by seven pillars, which, in turn, are supported by sculptured figures of lions, griffins, &c. But it is the sculptures in bass-relief upon its sides that are most wonderful, from their elaborate detail, which must have cost an age of patience and labor in their execution. They represent the Nativity, Adoration of the Magi, Crucifixion, Last Judgment, &c. The echoes in this circular baptistery are something quite remarkable. The guide, a fellow with a musical tenor voice, sang a note or two, and it came back to us "a whole gamut filled with heavenly notes." Another sang a bar, primo basso, and the polished walls returned it, like the mellowed peals of a full-voiced organ. This magical music was as charming as novel, and an extemporaneous concert was enjoyed here before leaving.
We next go over to the Campo Santo, or Holy Field, which renowned cemetery is enclosed by cloisters opening into the holy ground, the fronts of these cloisters facing the open space of the interior being arched and roofed over, forming a covered promenade in the form of a parallelogram, the whole enclosure being four hundred and fifteen feet long and one hundred and thirty-seven wide. The centre, within the cloister enclosure, was open overhead. The earth here, it will be remembered, every handful of it for I do not know how many feet deep, came from Mount Calvary, being brought by a prelate whom that fierce and powerful Saracen, Saladin, expelled from his dominions about the year 1200, and who, compelled to eat dirt, revenged himself by carrying off fifty or sixty ship-loads of it. It was deposited here, made holy ground, and duly consecrated; and to make the burial lots go off more lively, probably, the story was given out—which is still told—that the earth had the property of reducing dead bodies to dust in twenty-four hours. Of course, the rush to get in—or rather, of friendsto get their deceased relatives in—was great. Only great people could come down with their dust, and very seldom is it that any interments are made here now. One would naturally suppose that a burial-ground of these dimensions would become a little crowded in six hundred and seventy years, unless population was sparse, and some restrictions were made.
The covered arcade, or arched cloisters, which extend around the sides forty-six feet high, and thirty-four feet wide contain many interesting monuments. Among them we noticed Count Cavour's, and one to Madame Catalani, the singer, and a monument to the Countess Beatrice.
The walls of the cloisters are celebrated for their frescoes, many of which are fine specimens of the art, but all more or less injured by the action of dampness or the air. The subjects are from Scripture, or monkish legends. The most noted and striking is the Triumph of Death, in which the grisly king of terrors is allegorically brought before the spectator in a most striking manner, in various ways, such as the exhibition of three coffins, and their ghastly tenant, as a warning to three kings; Death swooping down, scythe in hand, upon a party of youths and maidens; kings, warriors, and prelates yielding to the fell destroyer, and angels and demons bearing their souls off in different directions.
Reaching Spezzia at nine P. M., after a day's sight-seeing in Pisa, gave us little time to do else than to obtain much-needed refreshment, look at a beautiful moonlight view of the harbor, and engage a private travelling carriage for our journey over the Apennines next morning. At six o'clock we started, and as we gradually left the city behind, on our rising road, had a fine sunrise view of its beautiful harbor, with English, French, and American vessels at anchor, with their national flags flying. The scenery among these mountains differs from that of Switzerland. The mountains themselves seem of a golden bronze color in the sunlight, from the color of the earth, which seems to be a sort of Spanish brown. And again, there are long ranges and graceful peaks, the sides of which are clad in light verdure, but no trees,which appear to be of a delicate pea-green, shaded with rich red, brown, and bronze, from the color of the rock and earth. There were great ranges of mountains, stretching off in the distance, like fading sunset clouds, transformed into mountains—a most beautiful effect.
Up we went, by the zigzags of the mountain road, surrounded by superb scenery of hill, and crag, and distant range, till finally we came in sight of the great Mediterranean, thousands of feet below us, flecked with the white sails of ships and boats in every direction. Far on the extreme edge of its blue plain crept a steamer, leaving a long trail of smoke behind, like a dark serpent. Then every few miles, turns in the road would bring us in view of little seaports beneath, with their half-circle harbors, light-houses, and white walls standing, out conspicuously on the deep blue of the sea, while the feluccas and great lateen sails, gliding into their ports, reminded one strikingly of panoramic views and paintings, or of those brilliant blue and white pictures of Mediterranean seaports which we sometimes see suspended in merchants' counting-rooms in America.
The ride was interesting, charming, and exhilarating; for, far off upon one side of us stretched the magnificent, ever-changing mountain scenery, and at the other, far down below, was the beautiful sea view, with numerous ports, clusters of shipping, and pretty indentations, while the road itself was smooth, hard, and in good condition, and our carriage rattled over it at the full trot, to the occasional music of the whip-cracks of the driver. We lunched, as we descended, at a wretched little Italian port, and walked down to the sea-side, while our food was in course of preparation, to pick up pebbles and get a near view of the Mediterranean, which, until this day, I had never looked upon except on the maps in the school geographies.
Continuing our journey, we passed hundreds—I may almost say, thousands—of a species of cactus along by the road-side, ranging in size from that of a soup plate to great pointed blades eight feet in height. Upon one sideof the road, a complete fence or barrier of these plants was made, of nearly a mile in length; and a very effective guard it was, with its tough, broad leaves ranged close together, with their aggressive and thorny blades.
But however pleasant post-riding on the continent, over one of the mountain roads may be, twelve or fifteen hours of it a day become fatiguing, and we were not sorry when our carriage rolled into the streets of Genoa at nine P. M., and, after twisting round through a dozen or more crooked streets, landed us at the Hotel Feder. "La Superba," and "City of Palaces," are the ostentatious titles that the Genoese have applied to this place; but one hardly gets an idea of anything very "superb" down in the old part of the city, where the hotels are situated, for here the streets are narrow—narrow as lanes, in fact, and not over-clean. The hotel Croce di Malta is one directly fronting the shipping and harbor, and from its great massive turrets we get a fine view of the latter. This hotel, a huge, castle-like building, was, in fact, a stronghold of the Knights of Malta, and from its battlements they looked forth watchfully upon the sea. Upon this front street, like those fronting the wharves in our great cities, seem to be the most vehicles. But as we recede into the narrower streets of the old town, vehicles are few in number, and pedestrians, loungers, and lazzaroni abundant. Our hotel is a stately building, on an alley that widens into a square, from which runs a narrow street lined with jewelry and fancy goods stores, in which the elegant silver filigree work, which is a specialty of Genoa, is displayed. This filigree is composed of fine wires of silver, elegantly wrought and twisted into the shape of wreaths, flowers, butterflies, and various artistic and fanciful figures, and is all sold by weight. Although originally of pure white, delicate, frosty-looking silver, it is also often electro-plated with gold.
Let not the unsophisticated reader imagine, either, when we speak of a fancy goods or jewelry store in the old city of Genoa, a spacious, well-lighted establishment, with great plate-glass windows, and a forty or a one hundred feet frontage. Imagine, rather, a little, one-windowed, narrow, deep, dark store, in a crowded street, the whole frontage of the store door and window not exceeding fifteen or eighteen feet, and you have it. The buildings on these little, narrow streets, though, are of the most massive character, seemingly built, as in warm countries, of solid masonry, to keep out the heat, and are, many of them, of great height, while the narrow streets are most effectually shaded by them from the sun. There are but very few vehicles that pass beneath our windows, or into the square; but the patter of feet, and the clatter of voices in the evening, are great.
Genoa must look beautifully from the sea, as it is built upon a height rising gradually some five hundred feet out from the shore; and, as we get out from the tortuous and narrow lanes of the old city, the squares and streets assume a less antique and cramped appearance. There are three great streets, the principal of which is the Strada Nuova, which is filled with lofty and elegant buildings, streets of palaces, many of them with unpretending exteriors, but with rich linings. One contains the most extensive collection of engravings in Italy—nearly sixty thousand; another is rich in paintings; a third in autograph letters, and relics of the great navigator, Christopher Columbus, who, your guide will be sure to inform you, "deescoovare Amereeke."
In one of the squares we saw the elegant marble monument erected to him—a circular shaft, bearing his full-length statue resting his hand upon a kneeling figure, while about the base of the column were four other allegorical statues, and beautiful bass-reliefs upon the four panels.
The visitor may have his feast of relics in the cathedral and the Church of St. Ambrogio, if he desires; but, after getting round upon the "grand tour" as far as this, he will probably find that he has seen fragments enough of the true cross to have made half a dozen of them, nails enough to have filled a keg, and bones enough of certain named saints to have set up two or three entire skeletons of the same individual.
One of the most delightful places to visit in the vicinity of Genoa is the Pallavicini Gardens, a few miles out. These gardens, though not remarkably extensive, are laid out in the most ingenious, beautiful, and expensive manner. Arriving at the villa, you ascend a flight of stairs in the house, and step out upon a broad and magnificent terrace of white marble, from which there is one of the most charming views imaginable of Genoa below, the blue sea beyond, and, far in the distance the peaks of Corsican mountains. Directly below this terrace are others, decorated with vases and broad flights of white marble steps and balusters, and upon these terraces are grand parterres of flowers, and tall orange and lemon trees growing, elegant camellias of every hue, roses, great rhododendrons, and beautiful azaleas.
Walking through an avenue of flowers and shrubbery from here, you come to an exquisite little Grecian temple in white marble, beautifully frescoed. Then you pass through another walk, arranged in Italian style, with beautiful vases and rare shrubs. Another turning, and you come to a pretty rustic cottage with all the surroundings so contrived as to make a charming natural picture. You ascend a height, and encounter a picturesque ruined tower (artificial), and from the height enjoy charming views in every direction. You descend the hill, and come to a miniature cavern of stalactites, through which the guide conducts you. It is filled with natural wonders—crystallizations and beautiful petrifactions, brought at immense expense from every part of Italy, and so arranged as to make an apparently natural formation—a natural grotto, gorgeous in the extreme. In the dark recesses of this cavern you reach a river, an ornamental boat approaches, and you are rowed silently through great arches of gloomy caverns, winding hither and thither, apparently into the innermost bowels of the earth, until you begin to fear the guide may have lost his way, when suddenly the boat shoots forth upon the bosom of a charming little lake, surrounded by objects of interest and beauty on every side.
The first object that attracts the attention is an artificial island in the centre of the lake, upon which is a beautifully-sculptured, miniature Temple of Diana, containing a statueof the goddess. Then you come to several small islands, connected by means of Chinese bridges, with all the surroundings Chinese. A Chinese pagoda, with its gay sides and bell-tipped peaks, rises near at hand. Chinese lanterns are suspended, and a bamboo and tiled Chinese house, seen through Oriental shrubbery, transports you in imagination, without much effort, to the land of the Celestials.
At other points in these wonderful gardens are similar artificial effects. One portion is planned to represent Egyptian ruins. A needle-like obelisk, covered with hieroglyphics, rises upon a sandy shore, and shattered columns, friezes, and sculptures are strewn on the ground. Some rest in the water, and the lotus flower near by, with a solemn, ibis-looking bird or two standing about, completes the illusion. There were little wildernesses of charming walks amid beautiful, ornamental gardening, where the senses were charmed with flowers of every hue and perfume, where aromatic and curious shrubs challenged the attention, and made the air as fragrant as a land breeze off the Spice Islands.
Then there was one feature which our guide seemed to thinktheone of the whole, and that was the ingenious tricks and deceptions which had been arranged with water. I may as well observe that this guide, like many of his race in Italy, was an inordinate lover of garlic. That dreadful odor enveloped him like a halo, and when he opened his mouth to speak, there was a perceptible widening of our circle of listeners to get beyond the range; but it was impossible unless the wind were in your favor, for the fellow fairly reeked with the effluvia from every pore of his greasy, oily, Italian hide, and poisoned the atmosphere in his vicinity. Each of our party of four took his turn in occupying the position next to the guide in his detour of the gardens. No one of us could have endured it the whole distance.
The water surprises consist of a series of ingenious tricks for drenching and showering visitors—considered a capital joke, no doubt, in Italy; but ladies who can have a delicate silk dress watered with a watering-potà discretion, without the surprise, and gentlemen who are not partial to having two or three pints of water squirted into their faces and upon their shirt-bosoms, do not appreciate the joke.
One of these consists of a door placed just ajar, at a passage leading into an attractive little nook. The exploring tourist, in endeavoring to open it farther, by the motion he communicates to the door, receives a stream full in the face. A Chinese bridge is so constructed that the visitor, on reaching its centre, finds himself surrounded by fine streams of water all playing towards him, from which it is impossible to escape unless by rushing through thejets d'eau. Upon one of the little Chinese islands an ornamental swing invites the visitor, who no sooner is enjoying the motion than a fine spray greets him in the face; and another stream is so contrived as continually to strike the bottom of the open-work seat as he glides to and fro. We only experienced one of these surprises, and the volley of the denunciation that the guide received from the linguist of our party in his own tongue, coupled with various powerful English expletives from the others, the import of which was unmistakable, evidently convinced him that it would not be to his advantage to play his tricks upon that party of travellers; and he did not. However, the gardens are the most beautiful and attractive imaginable. No amount of money has been spared in their care, or the decorations we have mentioned, all of which are of the most costly and expensive character—an evidence to what an extent artistic taste may be carried with unlimited means behind it.
Having "done" what was possible of Genoa in the brief time allowed, we took train for Turin,en routefor Paris, the railway carrying us through magnificent mountain scenery, great tunnels, and fine specimens of railway engineering, through the city of Alessandria, and past its frowning citadel, through the city of Asti, surrounded by picturesque hills, upon which probably the vines grow that produce the wine "Asti," which figures on the hotel bills of fare, and which is warmly commended by landlords and sometimes travellers; but my own experience convinces me there should have been an "N" pre-fixed, to have given the proper name to that which I tasted of the brand.
On we go, through smiling vineyards and grain-fields, and by and by catch a distant view of our old acquaintances, the snowy-peaked Alps, against the horizon. We reached Turin at eight o'clock in the evening, and were driven, through the bright gas-lighted streets from the station at a spanking pace, to the Hotel de l'Europe, situated in a grand square opposite the king's palace, and kept in a style befitting its position. I do not think, in the whole of our tour, we found a hotel its equal, certainly not its superior, in admirablecuisine, prompt attendance, reasonable prices, and comfortable appointments. Although arriving at eight P. M., and but four in party, a dinner, in regular courses, was served for us, with luxuries and a style that I have seldom seen equalled. The comforts and enjoyments of this admirable establishment caused us to regret to leave it, as we were compelled to early next morning, without seeing the city, except such portion of it as we rode through on our way to the station of the railway by which we were to reach Susa, from whence we were to cross Mount Cenis by carriage.
This carriage trip over the mountain we arranged for at the hotel in Turin, with Joseph Borgo, the somewhat celebrated proprietor, who stipulated to have a first-class carriage for four persons, to convey us over the mountain to San Michel, to provide four horses, change a certain number of times, and occupy certain hours in the transit—all of which was duly filled out in writing, and for which we paid two hundred and fifty-five francs (fifty-one dollars), which included all expenses except our own personal hotel bills. The carriage was promised to meet us at the station in Susa.
A railway ride of thirty-three miles brought us to Susa; and there, with the driver harnessing up four splendid dapple grays, stood an establishment in which one would not have been ashamed to have made his appearance on the drive at Central Park, New York,—bright, new, and modern built, and very like a modern American barouche, save that theseat usually occupied by the driver was a trifle higher, shielded by a chaise-top, and reserved for two outside passengers, the driver's seat being below it, nearer the horses.
We were wondering as to the whereabouts of our own carriage, and what grand duke was to take this handsome equipage, while the common people were entering diligences and the usual dust-covered, creaking, and rickety coaches one becomes so accustomed to in Italy, when we observed our own luggage being carefully bestowed upon the rack behind, and we were approached by Borgo's agent, who inquired if we had a "billet" for the "voiture;" and upon producing our lithographed and signed ticket, the carriage was brought up to where our group of a lady and three gentlemen stood, with the usual Italian whip-cracking.
The agent threw open the door with a flourish, and, "Entrez, monsieur; weisready."
Two seated themselves upon the box-seat, two upon the back seat of the open barouche; the door was closed with a bang, the polite agent raised his hat.
"Bon voyage"; and the driver, firing a volley of whip-cracks, the four grays started off with a clatter of silver-mounted harness, on a smart trot, as we rode away in the best appointed equipage it had been our fortune to enjoy in our whole European tour.
This fact contributed to mitigate the conviction that fifty-one dollars in gold was a pretty high price, as it was, for a fourteen hour's ride, compared with that paid for carriages in other parts of Italy for similar journeys. Borgo, however, had a monopoly of the best carriages, and was always sure of English tourists, who would take none other, and really performs his service thoroughly and well, without any attendant vexations, delays, humbugs, or swindles—a great consideration to the tourist.
The Mont Cenis Pass, it will be remembered, was built by order of Napoleon I., by engineer Fabbroni, and the culminating point of it reaches an elevation of sixty-seven hundred and seventy-five feet above the level of the sea. Theoriginal cost of the road was three hundred thousand pounds, although a large additional amount has since been expended upon it. It is the safest and most frequented route between France and Italy, and it was by this road the French troops entered Italy in 1859.