OUR TOUR IN NORTH ITALY.
ByTWO LONDON BACHELORS.
Afterleaving Lugano, the train enters two tunnels, shortly after which it crosses the Lake at Bissone, by means of a most hideous stone bridge. Bissone is a very picturesque village. The little steeple of the church rises romantically from the luxuriant foliage, and numerous cottages are scattered on the side of the lake. The charm of the scene, however, is much marred by the aforementioned bridge.
After leaving Bissone, the train goes directly south to Mendrisio, the station for Monte Generoso, the view from which is said to be equal (if not superior) to that from the Rigi. We had intended to climb Monte Generoso, but it being a very misty day, there would, of course, have been no view, so we continued our journey, passing Chiasso and Como. At Chiasso the luggage is examined, for, strange to say, one is in Swiss territory until arriving at Como.
We did not stay at Como, as we had decided to see that city and its beautiful lake on our return journey. The route from Como to Milan interested us, from the variety it afforded to the mountainous districts we had recently visited. There is, indeed, a great charm in the dead level of this huge Lombard plain; for apart from its cities, so interesting, historically and archæologically, we felt a certain sense of relief in getting again into a flat country, luxuriantly fertile and productive.
We made a mistake in not staying at Monza, a very ancient city containing, amongst other interesting buildings, a cathedral, founded by Queen Teodolinda in the sixth century, and a Broletto, or town hall, attributed to Frederic Barbarossa. We arrived at Milan early in the afternoon, and immediately drove to our hotel, through one of the magnificent gates which guard the approaches to the city.
On entering this, the first great Italian city which we had seen, many thoughts crowded into our minds. Here we were in a country the very cradle of European art, where through all times, even down to the present, art seems a vital necessity to the people. In other lands art has been an ornament or a luxury, but in Italy it seems to enter into the very life of the inhabitants, and nothing seems to have been able to wean them from their devotion to the beautiful creations of the hand of man. We find them revelling in art when foreign armies were overunning the country and decimating the population. We find it under tyranny and oppression of the most galling description—surrounded by acts of horror and infamy of the most despicable kind. We find it often in combination with ignorance and folly that are simply contemptible. We find it existing when liberty was utterly suppressed. Thus during all theMiddle Ages and the period of the Renaissance, whether the Italians were slaves or free, whether they were conquered or victorious, whether they were united or divided, still this marvellous spirit of art seems to have pervaded everything from their religion down to the most ordinary acts of everyday life.
INTERIOR OF MILAN CATHEDRAL.
INTERIOR OF MILAN CATHEDRAL.
INTERIOR OF MILAN CATHEDRAL.
Another thought which naturally suggests itself on entering Milan is that of the two noble characters whose lives stand out like brilliant meteors amongst the gloom, horror, wickedness, and folly, which stain so much of her history. We refer to her two Archbishops—St. Ambrose, the light and glory of her early history; and Charles Borromeo, the bright star which illumined her deepest gloom. And one cannot help thinking of the good and great man pursuing his mission of charity amongst the sick and dying of the plague-stricken city.
Our first thought was to find our way to the cathedral, the second largest Gothic church in Europe, about which probably more has been written, and a greater number of conflicting opinions as to its merit expressed, than about any building in the world, with the exception of St. Peter’s, Rome. As it is impossible to say anything new about this wonderful cathedral, we shall principally confine our remarks to our own individual impressions and opinions.
To commence with, the first view of the interior struck us as far finer than the more popular exterior. Indeed, so great an effect had it upon No. 2, that he turned as white as a sheet, and seemed completely overcome with the wonder of the buildings. The enormous proportions of the church, the great height of the pillars, with their canopied niches over the capitals, and the rich religious effect of the whole, formed a picture, in comparison to which (in our eyes) the blazing but meretricious glory of the exterior, with its 4,000 or so niches and vast masses of carving, was not to be compared. It is said that an intimate acquaintance with both exterior and interior will fall far short of one’s first impressions.
Now this did not strike us with regard to the interior. No, not even after we realised the tracery of the roof to be painted, and the tracery of the windows to be somewhat straggling and unmeaning. But it is a different matter from the exterior; after the first astonishment is over, one sees at once the great over-elaboration and the general “spikiness” of the effect, though No. 1 thought the admixture of the Renaissance style in the façade saved this portion of the cathedral by supplying that solidity and “sobriety of line” which the building otherwise so painfully lacks.
Even before we heard that the architect was supposed to have been a German, we recognised the Teutonic character of the cathedral, especially of the interior, which seemed to be not entirely unlike that of Cologne.
To enter more into detail, the plan is a Latin Cross, terminated by an apse, and divided into a nave and four aisles. The interior is 477 feet in length, by 183 in breadth, exclusive of the transepts, and is supported by fifty-two pillars, which are eighty feet in height and twelve feet in diameter. The before-mentioned niches, which crown the pillars, are a great feature, each niche being of different design, and all remarkably beautiful. The roof is elaborately painted in imitation (so it is said) of tracery. Street calls this an “abominable device, which never ceases to offend and annoy the eye more and more every time it is observed.” The effect did not seem to No. 1 at all disagreeable; quite the contrary. He thought it added great beauty and richness to the design, and does not believe that it was ever intended to deceive the beholder into the idea that it is real tracery. “Why not believe it to be mere decorative painting, and beautiful art as such?” he asked. But No. 2 was really deceived into believing that the imitation of tracery was actually what it represented, particularly as the design, which is in dark-brown colouring upon a light ceiling, represents carvings of beautiful patterns and filigree work, very much like the Gothic screens of some of our English cathedrals, only fixed upon the ceiling instead of being on the line of sight. But when, after investigation, he found the paint obliterated here and there by damp and other causes, showing blotches of brown and white, he was disgusted beyond measure, and began to look upon other work with suspicion. “Why,” cried he, “should a Christian church impose on the unwary, or to the wary preach affectation and artifice?”
There is no triforium, and the pavement is a mosaic of various coloured marbles. There is a great quantity of old stained glass in the windows, which, though not equal to our old English glass, yet gives the building a very religious effect, which is still more enhanced by the colour of the stonework, which has the appearance of old ivory. The interior is well filled with ancient monuments; but we have no space to describe them, and will simply add that the most remarkable are those of Gian Giacomo and Gabriele de Medici, attributed to Michael Angelo; of Cardinal Caracciolo, in black marble, by Bambaja; and of Ottone Visconti, Archbishop of Milan, which is earlier in date than any portion of the cathedral. In the north transept is the bronze candelabrum for holding seven lamps, constructed in imitation of that which existed in the Holy Temple of Jerusalem—a magnificent work erected in the thirteenth century. And in the south transept is a famous statue of St. Bartholomew being flayed alive.
St. Charles Borromeo, the great Archbishop of Milan, is buried below the dome in a subterranean chapel. It may interest our girls to know that he was the originator of Sunday-schools in Europe.
The Duomo of Milan is like no other building in the world, it belongs to no distinct style of architecture, and in art it had neither parents nor children. Nothing was ever built like it before, and nothing will ever be built like it again. We do not say that it is the most beautiful church ever built, nor do we deny that, architecturally speaking, it possesses many grave faults, but what we mean is this: Of all other churches we say they are built in such and such a style, or are of such and such an order of architecture. But of this we say simply, it is the Duomo of Milan.
When this vast structure, with its countless pinnacles of pure white marble glittering in the sun, and backed-up by a dark blue sky, breaks upon our astonished gaze, the mind is absorbed with wonder.
Is it a vision? What have we seen before like it—possibly only one thing—the snow-clad peaks of the Alps. One cannot get rid of the notion that some kind of relationship exists between the two. We begin almost to suspect that some mighty Alp, with its snow-clad peaks, must have been its mother—so much is it like the kind of architecture that would have sprung from the mountains.
It was after leaving the Duomo that the two bachelors had their first quarrel. This is how it came about:—The older bachelor, who is impressionable and of a poetical and non-technical turn of mind, enjoys an undisturbed first sight of a magnificent building, without first of all inquiring into its structural and architectural details; and if there is one thing more than another which annoys him, it is to have the “dry bones” of workmanship dinned into his ears and thrust before his mental vision when the complete building should rather impress on him all that it has to say of great achievement and power.
Now the younger bachelor is technical and fond of dates, so seized the opportunity of showing off his knowledge of history and archæology at the very moment when his friend was first gazing at the religious splendour of the interior of the cathedral. This made No. 2 insist on a judicial separation, at any rate for the first hour, so the greater part of the building was explored in “single blessedness.” The quarrel, postponed, of course, until we had left the Duomo, was happily of short duration, and the two bachelors compared notes, and came to the conclusion that, after all, more permanent unity is created by contradictory temperaments. Whether this would apply in the case of man and wife they unfortunately could offer no opinion founded on experience, so they wended their way through some very narrow, uninteresting streets to the church of St. Ambrose, at the west of the city.
St. Ambrogio, founded in the fourth century, is full of ancient epitaphs and early Christian antiquities, notwithstanding that it was very much repaired in the seventeenth century. The walls of the “atrium,” or open court, in front of it, contain fragments of frescoes, ancient inscriptions, etc., which, backed up by the Romanesque red brick church (dating from the ninth century), form one of the most picturesque scenes in North Italy.
The interior of St. Ambrogio is, if possible, more interesting than the exterior; it is of grey stone, with arches of red brick, a quaint effect of colour. There are no transepts, and the building terminates in an apse.
It would take pages to describe all that is remarkable in the interior of St. Ambrogio, so we shall only mention some of the interesting features. On first entering the nave we noticed two pillars, on one of which is a brazen serpent, said to be the brazen serpent of Exodus. The vaulting of the apse is very ancient, and is covered with mosaic work as fine as anything in St. Mark’s, Venice. Below we noticed the old chair of St. Ambrose. The high altar is interesting, as being the place where some of the German emperors received the iron crown of Lombardy; a baldachino or ciborium covers it.
On the front of the high altar (itself a blaze of glory) are depicted scenes from the life of Christ, while on the back are represented incidents in the life of St. Ambrose, the former in plates of gold and the latter silver-gilt.
St. Ambrogio contains several frescoes. The finest are “Legend of St. George,” by Bernardino; and “Ecce Homo,” by Luini. In it also are the shrines of Saints Gervasius and Protasius—very popular saints in Italy.
On leaving St. Ambrogio we wished to get straight back to our hotel; but we unfortunately lost our way, and were obliged to ask an Italian gentleman to direct us. He not only put us on the right road, but actually went out of his way to ensure our not losing ourselves again. This is characteristic of the North Italians. They are really polite, and, according to the elder bachelor, the most gentlemanly people he has visited.
Aftertable d’hôtewe strolled out of the hotel, and walked through the magnificent Galleria Vittorio Emmanuel (containing some of the best shops in Milan) into the Piazza del Duomo. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the cathedral looked simply glorious—its dazzling whiteness almost frightening us as it suddenly burst on our view. After due deliberation No. 2 irreverently said that the appearance was similar to that of a colossal wedding-cake, with its sugary-looking ornamentations under a strong light. The Duomo, though not a very pure example of Gothic, possibly over-ornamented, and its detail not always inthe best taste, is certainly one of the most extraordinary examples of man’s industry, perseverance, and wealth to be found in the whole realm of art.
It was about 9 o’clock p.m. that the first scene was enacted of what might have completely wrecked our holiday, viz., the longing of the younger bachelor to smoke one of the long cigars, with straws in them at either end, which foreigners, especially Italians, seem so to enjoy. No. 2 (the older) bachelor being the better linguist, went into a tobacco shop and ordered one of these cigars. It was in vain that the shopman declared they were never bought by English; it was of no use his repeating that they were so inferior—No, No. 1 had set his heart on possessing one of them, and have one he would.
We bought two, one of which the younger bachelor immediately smoked, having first carefully extracted the straws. The other was given to the waiter, and it is safe to predict that neither of us will ever be seen with one of those terrible cigars again. About 10 p.m. No. 1 began to show signs of a violent bilious attack, which grew worse as the night came on. This was the commencement of an ailment which afterwards turned out to be “gastric fever.” There was little sleep that night for either of the bachelors, as No. 2 sat up by his friend during a great part of the night. The next morning, however, though still unwell, No. 1 insisted on going to church. On returning hotel-ward the younger felt alarmingly ill, and could not walk further without help.
When we got to the hotel, No. 2 determined to send for a doctor, and, looking into his Baedeker, chose one of those recommended. Our girls must not think it was entirely the horrible cigar that made No. 1 so ill. They must remember he was described as having a shocking digestion, which had been “upset” by the continual travelling and the change of food; also, the sudden change from the bracing mountain air to the comparatively enervating climate of Milan, no doubt accelerated the illness. The doctor came about four hours after he was sent for, and, after asking innumerable questions as to the occupation, rule of life, etc., of the bachelor, seemingly unnecessary—not to say impertinent—prescribed an alarming amount of medicine. We shall remember that doctor, with his important manner and soft, deep voice. He was a smart, healthy-looking man, with an imposing moustache and short black hair. We shall also remember the answer he gave to the older bachelor, who had inquired how long it would be before his friend would be well enough to resume his travels—“Maybe in two or three weeks,” being the encouraging reply.
The younger bachelor is here reminded of the interesting view of chimney-pots and house-roof visible from his bedroom window, which it was his fate to watch incessantly for two whole days, miserably ill, with one longing in life, viz., to quench his burning thirst with “a lemon squash.”
As it seemed the less expensive method, No. 2 shopped for the lemons, bringing in a dozen at a time, and squeezing them with his fingers into a water-bottle glass. The sugar was purloined from thesalle-à-manger(as we wish this narrative of ours to be a strictly truthful one, we resolutely admit our guilt, but hope the Italian Government will not be too hard on us), for we preferred the charge of one halfpenny per “squash,” instead of one franc, the probable price of one bought at the hotel. If any one of our readers has had a brother to supply incessantly with “lemon squash” for two days and one night, without the use of a proper lemon-squeezer, she will appreciate the sad intelligence that No. 2’s finger joints are now less supple and powerful than before this Italian tour.
La femme de chambrewas, as most young women are to forlorn and helpless bachelors, tender and kind. In fact, at the end of two days she quietly suggested that a lemon squash was the worst drink for the poor patient, and actually the dear thing made for him some oatmeal, bringing into the room a sieve, a basin, some warm water, and a screw of paper containing oatmeal. Then (à laUseful Hints in the G. O. P.) the recipe was as follows:—A little oatmeal in the strainer, hold over the empty basin, and with the warm water (by this time very lukewarm), percolate through the sieve, and behold a dish of Scotch oatmeal!
That preparation did not seem to improve the condition of the poor patient.
“Oh, that we had some English lady with us,” cried No. 2.
“Never no more,” groaned No. 1, with his face to the wall, though whether this depressing remark had a reference to the oatmeal, the gentler sex, or the “holiday” (save the mark!), No. 2 has not yet been able to determine.
(To be continued.)