CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DUCAL PALACE—BRIDGE OF SIGHS—THE POZZI—CAMPANILE—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—SWIFTS—THE PIGEONS OF ST. MARKS—DEPARTURE FROM VENICE—THE ANCONA STEAMER—THE ADRIATIC—VICISSITUDES OF A SEA-VOYAGE—THE UNFORTUNATE FRIAR—POLA—ITS ANTIQUITIES—THE HOTEL—ANCONA—THE CUSTOM-HOUSE—DISAPPOINTMENT—A VILLAGE IN THE APPENINES—FULIGNO—ASSISI—THE BOARDING-HOUSE—SAN FRANCESCO—MUSICAL SHOEMAKERS—SPOLETO—MY COUNTRYWOMAN—TERNI—ROME.
THE DUCAL PALACE—BRIDGE OF SIGHS—THE POZZI—CAMPANILE—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—SWIFTS—THE PIGEONS OF ST. MARKS—DEPARTURE FROM VENICE—THE ANCONA STEAMER—THE ADRIATIC—VICISSITUDES OF A SEA-VOYAGE—THE UNFORTUNATE FRIAR—POLA—ITS ANTIQUITIES—THE HOTEL—ANCONA—THE CUSTOM-HOUSE—DISAPPOINTMENT—A VILLAGE IN THE APPENINES—FULIGNO—ASSISI—THE BOARDING-HOUSE—SAN FRANCESCO—MUSICAL SHOEMAKERS—SPOLETO—MY COUNTRYWOMAN—TERNI—ROME.
I shall not describe the Ducal Palace with itspozziandpiombi, its magnificent staircase and the Lion’s mouth, and the once gloomy chambers of the Inquisition. All these have been too well handled by professed tourists, to require any further observation on my part, and I doubt not there are many living within five miles ofSt.Paul’s, who possess a much clearer idea of the interior of San Marco, with its apostle screen, gilt mosaics, and uneven pavement, than of the noble monument to their own Sir Christopher. Suffice it to say, that in company of some relatives whom I met in Venice, whose curiosity was proof against difficulties that would altogether have takenmeaback, Isucceeded not merely in peeping through the key-hole of the fatal door, but in standing on the Bridge of Sighs. To effect this negatively desirable object, we were compelled to penetrate to the bureau of some functionary, holding a situation in the prison on the other side, and having secured an old man with the key, we retraced our steps to the Palace, and passed through the portal.
The Ponte dei Sospiri consists of two distinct passages: by one the accused was led before the Inquisitors, from whose presence he was either conducted through the other to be strangled, or consigned by the brutal and cowardly policy of that dark tribunal, to the perpetual damps of thePozzi, or subaqueous dungeons of the Ducal Palace. The number of those who left the inquisition to be restored to the light of day, was limited indeed: mercy or pardon were not among the attributes of the so called, “Justice ofSt.Mark,” and the miserable accused never experienced the benefit of a doubt. We shuddered in the state dungeons, and crept through the damp and tortuous passages, gazing with feelings of awe and horror at the iron grating, where so many innocent victims had gasped the last unavailing appeal for mercy, at the hands of their fellow-men.
It is well worth a little trouble to ascend the CampanileofSt.Mark’s, from whose summit the view is unique, and should you happen to be upon the platform at the hour of sunset, you will allow it to be so to a verystrikingdegree. The noise of the monstrous bells is indeed almost deafening. Although Venice is intersected with small canals, in every possible direction, it is extraordinary that but one is visible from the summit of the bell-tower, a fact only accounted for by the close proximity of the houses. Of the Grand Canal there are many glimpses, while the various islands of the Lagune are seen from hence to great advantage. All day and night there are watchmen at the top of the Campanile, whose duty it is to give the alarm, in case of fire, and from their great elevation, they are able at once to judge of its precise locality. These worthies employ their leisure time in letting fly small pieces of white paper, in order to observe the gambols of the swifts, which are certainly most amusing. No sooner is a piece let off, than it is pursued by a lot of these little birds, who appear to scuffle and fight for its possession most lustily. Occasionally it is impaled by the sharp beak of one of them, and thus forms a frill around its neck, which leads to its destruction. Its efforts to disengage itself are unavailing. No sooner has it donned its fatal necklace, than a crowd of its fellows enter on thepursuit, and the poor bird is then either pecked to death, or drops from sheer exhaustion on one of the neighbouring roofs.
The pigeons ofSt.Mark’s are proverbially respected, and many legends are told concerning them. Some one, it appears, left as a legacy, a sum of money to be exclusively devoted to the purchase of food for these Penates of the Venetians, which are exceedingly numerous, and swarm upon the roofs of the Church ofSt.Marc, and adjacent buildings. They are fed every day precisely at noon, and no sooner do the bronze figures on the Clock Tower swing round upon their pivots, in readiness for the first stroke of twelve, than the air is partially darkened by the clouds of pigeons, that sweep over the square, hitching and perching upon the ledges and window-sills of the Procuratie Veechie. Grain is then scattered from an open window, and although the sight is of every day occurrence, the table-d’hôte of the pigeons is watched with eagerness by the surrounding crowd. We were much struck with one circumstance in connexion with these birds. On a certain day in the year, all the clocks in the city are silent, and we expected that the pigeons would have been nonplused. Never were we more mistaken. No bell sounded, nor did the figures move,yet precisely as the gold hands on the dial of the Clock Tower reached their zenith, the pigeons, whose stomachs were not to be cheated, were seen flocking in from all quarters to their usual meal.
The weather becoming cooler, and having derived considerable benefit from the advice and attention ofDr.T——g, I began to think of turning my face once more towards Rome, and never having been at Ancona, resolved to take advantage of a little steamer plying between that port and Venice two or three times a month. My friend Luish had already set off with some acquaintance for Florence, and most of my other associates were dispersed in different directions. I therefore took leave of such few as remained, and engaged my berth at an office in the Piazza. It appeared that I had chosen an unfavourable time for making a sea-trip, as the weather had been for some days very stormy, and on repairing on board, I was told by the captain, that he could not venture to put out to sea that day. This happened three times in succession, until I began to regret that I had paid my fare, for I know few things more annoying than to be at loose ends in a place, with your portmanteau packed, your bedroom let to another occupant, and yourself uncertain at what moment you may be calledupon to join your ship. On the third day we got off at the hour of noon, with about twenty-five passengers, all bound for Ancona, the majority of whom were priests and monks; but there was also a German artist with his family, of the name of Heinrich, whom I found very agreeable. We had not been long in the Adriatic, before our captain seemed bitterly to regret that he had left the friendly shallows of the lagunes. Our ill-built little steamer, rolled uneasily in the heavy sea, and as night closed in, we had anything but a pleasant prospect before us. Most of the passengers were soon rendered insensible to the peril of our situation: prostrated by sea-sickness they lay stretched upon the deck, careless alike of the combat of the elements, and of the torrents of salt water which swept over us, and poured down the badly-closed hatchways. Not being myself a sufferer in this respect, I was enabled to render some little assistance to the wife and little girls of the Herr Heinrich, and managed with some difficulty to get them stowed away, three in a berth, in one of the upper bed-places. The sailors declared that the monks, who had betaken themselves to their beads, were the cause of our ill-luck, while the captain, who appeared a poor weak-minded man, lost all command over himself and ship, and indulged in deep potations. Thesailors, however, stuck unflinchingly to their duty, and in this state of affairs I went below to see if I could get any rest. The water was rolling about in the cabin, and hat-boxes and other light packages were carried hither and thither in the utmost confusion. The pitching of the vessel was quite fearful, and even had my fears allowed of my sleeping, any attempt thereat would have been absurd. I squeezed myself, however, into a berth, and had only just done so, when, by a sudden lurch, an enormously exaggerated friar, who had been lying in a state of semi-torpor immediately above me, toppled out of his berth, and upsetting in his descent the table, which was loaded with clothes and other articles, splashed heavily into the water beneath. A minute sooner, and I must have been annihilated. How the good man had ever managed to reach the berth from whence he had fallen, I cannot tell. But it was no time for reflection. Though a little stunned, the poor friar got upon all fours, in an attempt to find his legs, but fright and sickness had rendered him weak, and losing his equilibrium, he was speedily carried beyond my reach by another lurch, and as I had no mind to exchange my comparatively comfortable position for a wrestling-match with a sick Capuchin, in half-a-fathom of dirty water, Iwaited until a third lurch brought him back again, when I grappled him, and held on tight till he righted.
Whilst engaged in these little recreations, I suddenly became sensible that we had got into smooth water, and with the pleasing anticipation that we might by accident have hit Ancona, I was hastening on deck, when a slight shock which followed the stoppage of the engines, set us all off rolling again. Day was now just beginning to dawn, and as the light increased, a beautiful and well-sheltered bay was revealed to our view. The sailors had run us on a sandy shore, within sight of the town of Pola, on the coast of Istria, and I began to think the wind that blows nobody any good, must indeed be an ill one, inasmuch as many travellers have gone scores of miles out of the regular beaten track, to visit the ancient city, near which we were now safely stranded. The sight of terra-firma restored spirits to our whole party, though they were most of them considerably astonished at finding themselves as far as ever from Ancona. As soon as we could land, a proceeding rendered easy by the assistance of some of the good folk from Pola, we walked to the town, and entering by one accord its little church, each in his own way returned thanks for our deliverance from the perils of the deep.
Being told that our vessel would not again put to sea, until the swell had somewhat abated, we had ample time before us to view the antiquities of Pola. The amphitheatre or arena, is the great lion of the place, and stands about half-a-mile from the town, close to the shore, which in many places is rocky and precipitous. The outer wall of this relic of Roman magnificence, remains perfect, evincing the great extent of the building; but the interior is nearly all in ruins, saving a few of the masses of masonry, which formerly supported the raised seats. The whole interior is clogged up with heaps of rubbish, overgrown in parts with weeds and brambles, and possesses a most forlorn appearance. Viewed from the outside, the arena forms a splendid ruin, the effect being much enhanced by its peculiar and picturesque situation. Pola seems to have been once fortified with a strong wall, of which the remains are tolerably perfect in places, and there is also a Roman arch in good preservation, called, I believe, the Porta Aurea, but the worthy people of the place seem to know very little indeed either about its history, or the remains, which alone render it of consequence in the eyes of the few travellers who visit it. There is a miserable inn in the little piazza, but the sudden irruption of five-and-twenty hungry steam-boatpassengers, whose appetites had been whetted to an alarming degree, by the inside-out experience of the preceding night, caused such a run upon the eatables, that by the time we had finished our breakfast, there was a partial famine in the place, and we had to make our dinner off fish and vegetables.
At five o’clock, our Captain, who had recovered his erring senses, recalled us on board, but it was ten at night before the steam was up, and our little vessel once more fairly afloat. Our voyage to Ancona, though stormy enough, proved less boisterous than that of the night before, and I believe we were all very glad to turn our backs upon the still agitated water.
At the custom-house, I had some little difficulty in passing my few valuables, without paying a heavy duty. The Pope’s douaniers were extremely curious, and a portable sketching apparatus, which I had with me, unfortunately attracted the attention of the whole posse of searchers. I thought the best way was to humour them, and therefore opened my camp-stool, drew out a ready stretched piece of prepared paper, squeezed a few dabs of paint upon the pallette, and might perhaps have finished by caricaturing the whole lot, had not a more considerate officer taken compassion on me,and desired me to shut up my shop, an order I obeyed with the greatest alacrity. The result of my delay was, that my travelling companions had appropriated all the rooms in the “Albergo della Pace,” and I had to seek a bed elsewhere.
I rose early the next day, in order to visit the old Cathedral church and a triumphal arch, erected on the Mole, in honour of Trajan. I also called upon my friend Heinrich, the German artist in acquarelle, who had already engaged avettura, to convey himself and family to Rome. After some little bargaining with the driver, I secured a seat in the coupè as far as Fuligno, having pretty much determined to make a halt of a few days at Assisi, before returning to my old quarters in the Via Sistina.
We quitted Ancona at five in the morning, passing no fewer than three distinct dogana, at each of which we were overhauled, though fortunately without paying any duty. I found a trifling bribe go farther than a boat-load of quiet civility or resignation, a papal custom-house officer being devoid of all feeling save the modicum existing in his palms, which when tickled with a small coin, generally expand to the traveller’s advantage. On our arrival at Osimo, where our vetturino gave us some breakfast, we discovered to ourchagrin, that our road would not lead us by Loretto, a disappointment for which we had to thank ourselves in not making a better bargain, and we had the mortification to catch a tantalizing glimpse only of the towers of “Our Lady,” to which we had all been anticipating a pilgrimage. Continuing our journey, we slept at Tolentino, at a most miserable and dirty inn, and were really glad when the waiter called us at the somewhat early hour of two (!) to resume our journey. It was of course quite dark, and moreover, was raining heavily. I went to the stable to call the driver, whom I found fast asleep between his jaded horses, and we experienced some of the shivering pleasures ofvetturinotravelling, as we waited for him to “put to.” The waiter endeavoured to increase our discomforts, by offering coffee and bread in the middle of the night, our coachman declaring that he had to pay for it, and that if we refused it, we should get no more. We enlightened him, however, by afterwards pulling up at a little inn at the foot of the Appenines, where we had our coffee, when we were able to enjoy it. About five in the afternoon we reached Fuligno, where I had to bid a temporary adieu to my friend Heinrich and his amiable family. The waiter of the hotel informed me that he had a little one-horse vettura, whichwould take me comfortably to Assisi for fifteen pauls, and closing with his offer, I agreed to set off next morning. It seemed, however, as if the rainy season had thoroughly set in—the water poured down in torrents, splashing in at the ill-closed windows of my old-fashioned vehicle, and I had a miserably wet ride, passing through the ancient town of Spello, and reaching Assisi about one o’clock. An old Roman acquaintance had recommended to me the Casa Carpinelli, whither I ordered the boy to drive, and found the family just sitting down to dinner. There were already two visitors in the house, one a countryman of my own, and the other a French artist, but I found excellent accommodation, and can offer a willing tribute of acknowledgment to the kind care of the Signor Lorenzo, who boarded and did for me, at the rate of three-and-a-half pauls per diem.
The Church of San Francesco is of coursethelion of Assisi, and is a very fine specimen of early Gothic architecture, abounding also in rich frescoes, by Giotto and others. There are three distinct churches, one over the other, the lowest of the three being cut in the rock, which serves as the foundation of the entire building. Hundreds of pilgrims resort hither annually, to worship at the shrine of San Francesco, whose bones repose within this splendid temple.The convent of the order of Francescans is attached to the church, and standing out boldly as it does, from the face of the rock, has the appearance of a strong fortification. The church of Santa Chiara is also well worth a visit. It was formerly adorned with superb frescoes which, by command of some infatuated bishop, were covered with whitewash, and all but obliterated. There are yet a few remaining over the altar, and these serve by their beauty to increase the regret one feels at the fate of their companions.
I staid a few weeks at Assisi, spending the greater portion of my time in extended rambles through the neighbouring country, which, though offering but few subjects for the pencil, is beautifully wooded, and abounds with pleasing landscape. In the town I made many acquaintance, of whom the most entertaining was a musical shoemaker, whom I had called on with an order. I was I believe, whistling as I entered his little workshop, though I should hardly have known that I was so doing, had not my new friend exclaimed, “quello é un bel pezzo, Signore!” and I should still have been at a loss to know whether he alluded to mymorceau, or to the leather in his hand, had he not, quick as thought, whipped out a Cremona, and played me the whole of the piece with remarkableprecision and clearness. Giuseppe reallydidpossess a soul above buttons, as I found out when I became better acquainted with him. He had fitted up a large room at the back of his house as astanza di musica, where he instructed a number of young men of his acquaintance, in the mysteries of counterpoint.
The shoemakers of Italy are remarkable for their devotion to harmony, and my Assisi friends may be cited as a favourable specimen of the craft, who, if unable to afford money to purchase instruments, and time to use them, will sing glees as they sit at work, with a degree of proficiency that is sometimes astonishing. Nor do they confine their vocal powers to the shop only. When work is over, and they are about to separate for the evening, they will be seen with their hands rammed down into their pockets, and their heads close together, either singing at a street corner, or marking time with measured pace, as they take the road homewards. Giuseppe and his companions, who were all instrumentalists, devoted two nights in the week to the private performance of concerted pieces, to which as a stranger I was kindly invited, and it will be long before I lose the remembrance of these agreeable and unpretending little réunions.
I quitted Assisi on the day ofTuttisanti, or All Saints, making a bargain with the Fuligno postman to take me that far in his carrettina for the sum of four pauls. Taking a last peep into the Cathedral church of San Rufino, where some imposing ceremonies were going forward, I took leave of my Assisi friends, and got away about two. It rained hard all the way to Fuligno, but the monstrous campagna umbrella kindly lent me by the Signora Carpinelli, covered both myself and the postman, and saved us from a thorough drenching. On alighting at the “Croce Bianca,” I found a vetturino who was to start the next morning for Rome, and with him I soon came to an arrangement.
The waiter called me at five, bringing a cup of coffee, and having hastily dressed myself, I got into my corner of thelegno. The rain was descending in sheets, and I wondered that our driver would venture out before day-break in such weather. As soon as the light had dawned, I discovered my travelling companions to be two priests and a lady, who soon commenced an animated conversation, that served to shorten the ride to Spoleto, where our vetturino pulled up at the hotel, declaring he would proceed no farther in suchtempaccio. His half-drippingfreight had nothing to do but to submit, and I therefore entered the inn and ordered a bed, determined to make the best of a forced halt. In the coffee-room, up stairs, I found a stout lady at a table, eating, with a lot of damp Italians gazing at her in astonishment. On a rainy day, a weather-bound traveller may be excused a trifling liberty, and I therefore stared with the rest, though I really did not observe anything remarkable until the lady addressed the gaping half-dozen. “Ah! you may stare; pity you ai’nt got nothing better to stare at!” The Italians seemed surprised and edified, and looked at each other in silence, and then again at the stout lady, who resumed. “Yes, I only wishlookingat them cutlets ’ud make em bigger! Here, garsony, some salad!” “Eccomi qua Signora!” said the waiter, who emerged from behind a screen, at the far end of the room, where he had concocted a genuineinsalataof highly lubricated beans, with a garnish of anchovies, which he now set down in triumph before the astonished lady. “Well, I never,” exclaimed she, “cold French beans with ile and vinegar—no, no, I aintquitecome to that yet, neither, the very look on ’em makes me ill!” And my graceful countrywoman, producing a capacious case-bottle, drank her own health with infinitegusto, and then pledged the crowd of admirers, who bowed and took another long stare. At this juncture a good-humoured looking vetturino entered the room, whom she no sooner caught sight of, than she poured out for him anotherpetit verre, and shaking her head ruefully, pointed to the dessert and remains of her repast which had evidently consisted of some few and very light materials, and had by no means come up toherunderstanding of the agreement made with the vetturino. But her wily driver, who swallowed the cognac, declined taking the hint, beckoning her away with a notice of “Siamo pronto, Signora,” and in defiance of both wind and water, they were soon again on their road northwards before I could get an opportunity of speaking the strange sail. The rain did not hold up until the moon rose, when it was too late to go forward; so we staid the night at Spoleto, and on the following day managed to reach Strittura, where we again met with a detention of some hours. At Terni, we dropped one of the priests, and took in his place a worthy sort of man, Governor of some little country district, and exceedingly self-important. On arriving at Narni, our vetturino drove to the “Campana,” or Bell Inn, a poor place enough, though said to be the best in the town.The waiter, who took us for a party of natives, from whom he would scarcely derive as much profit, as from a carriage-load of travelling “Inglese,” was impudent and abusive, but had no sooner detected a little badge of office worn by the Governatore, who unfastened his upper Benjamin to that intent, than he altered his tone, and shewed us excellent rooms. In the dining-room, I fell in with more than a score of English, principally ladies, and most amusing was it to me to hear their remarks upon our little party, our dress and personal appearance being freely canvassed, without the least affectation of whisper or concealment. I had my revenge upon them in the evening, when it was decided that we should amuse ourselves by having a song from every one present, the priests only being exempted. On its coming round to me, I selected something in the mother tongue, which, as the language was entirely unanticipated by certain of the young ladies, produced so strange an effect, that they left the room in confusion, and could scarcely be induced to return.
On reaching Otricoli the next day, we found a great number of vehicles, public and private, as well as the Corriera or mail, detained there by the overflow of the Tiber at the Ponte Felice. We were disposing ourselves to pass theremainder of the day in this miserable village, when a post-boy with some return horses, having brought the news that the water was not more than three palms over the road, we all decided to venture, and arrived at Civita Castellana without difficulty. At Rome I put up at an inn in the Via del Orso, with my Italian friend the Governor, until I could suit myself with a lodging, and on walking to the Lepri, fell in with many of my old artistical acquaintance at Aurelio’s table, who received me with many expressions of welcome.