OUR TOUR IN NORTH ITALY.
ByTWO LONDON BACHELORS.
RAPHAEL
Itwill be remembered that on arriving at Verona the two bachelors wandered about the city, merely glancing at its many beauties, in order to get a general impression, reserving for the next day the task of examining its buildings.
Our hotel at Verona was most picturesque; it had a courtyard in the middle, on to which all the principal rooms looked. There was a fountain in this courtyard, surrounded by dark green shrubs, which had a very cooling and refreshing appearance. The few English and Americans at the hotel were as usual the most pleasant of the guests; in fact, we have always liked those of our countrymen whom we have met abroad, and we venture to think that John Bull on the Continent has been maligned and abused far more than he deserves. We found the English at the places we visited quiet, companionable, and always well-behaved at table. Our satirists a generation back were never tired of depicting the narrowminded prejudices of the English abroad, but we cannot help thinking that many of these prejudices have disappeared, and this seems to be borne out by the undoubted increase of friendly feeling shown to our countrymen when travelling on the Continent, notwithstanding that in many cases we have not so much money to spend as our travelling forefathers had.
We rose early on the day after our arrival at Verona, as we were anxious to see as much as possible of the city before going on to Padua and Venice. As early as nine o’clock we had finished our breakfast and were starting out to see if, on second sight, Verona would delight us as much as its first impression had.
After about five minutes’ walk from our hotel we found ourselves in the Piazza delle Erbe, the fruit-market of Verona. This fine open square was completely filled with stalls, with funny old white umbrellas covering them. On one side of these stalls were little stools about six or seven inches high, on which were seated the oldest of old women, generally knitting. How very ancient these women looked, how wrinkled and furrowed were their countenances! Indeed, we could almost have imagined that these crones were in existence when the palaces and tower of the piazza were being built, and that they have been perched on their stools selling their wares during the centuries that have crumbled the buildings, and reduced the fortunes of Verona, formerly one of the most brilliant cities of Italy, the abode of Dante, Sammicheli the architect, and Paul Cagliari, or Veronese, the last great genius of the North Italian school of painting.
We were anxious to see how these women conducted business, and going up to a particularly old one we asked the price of some oranges. As we could not understand her patois (of which there are over a hundred in Italy—the country of a confusion of tongues!) the older bachelor took up a franc, in exchange for which she was about to present him with two oranges! Fancy this old creature, who had probably lived all her life amidst the beautiful buildings of Verona, and who was at least eighty years of age, attempting to swindle two (as she thought) unwary foreigners. We were walking away disgusted when the woman shouted after us, offering three oranges for the franc; and seeing we were still discontented, she offered four, then five, then six oranges, which last we took, much to the delight of the woman, who even then had probably got double the value of her wares.
Strolling out of the Piazza delle Erbe, we entered the Piazza dei Signori, where there was much to interest us. On one side is the Palazzo del Consiglio, the grandest in Verona. It is built in the early Renaissance style of the fifteenth-century, and is covered with rich and exquisite detail. Near to this palace is the fine marble statue of Dante, erected in 1865. The poet is standing, with his head resting on his right hand. The features are extremely intellectual, but rather stern, such as one would expect in the writer of the “Divina Commedia.”
After the Piazza dei Signori we visited for the second time the tombs of the Scaligers.
Our girls will remember from our last article what a very important part the families of the Visconti and Sforza took in the history of Milan. Now, an almost equally important position was occupied for nearly a century and a half by the Scaligers, or della Scalas, in Verona.
It was about the year 1260 that Mastino della Scala, their first historical character, was elected “captain of the people.” To him succeeded others of the family, like him distinguished as wise rulers, patrons of art, and in every way excellent princes. As time went on the Scaliger family added several other important North Italian towns to their rule, including Lucca, Parma, Brescia, Vicenza, and others. But a little after the middle of the fourteenth century the family began to lose all those excellent qualities which had raised them to fame and power, and from the years 1359 to 1405 the history of the Scaligers is a record of barbarous murder and unprincipled corruption. With their leaders so degraded, it was certain that the Veronese would sooner or later be conquered, either by the Dukes of Milan or the Republic of Venice, and, to put an end to the difficulty, they threw over the rule of the Scaligers, and gave themselves up to the Doge of Venice in 1405.
Repeatedly in Verona one comes across delicately-carved little ladders. These are the arms of the Scaligers (della Scala means “of the ladder”), and they serve to show how great an influence this family exercised for a number of years.
Continuing our walk, we went again to see St. Anastasia, noticing near the entrance the beautiful tomb of Count Castelbarco. This is very like the monument to the Scaligers, and, with the façade of the church, makes a very picturesque subject. The church of St. Anastasia has always been considered as an ideal of Italian Gothic architecture. Street and other experts are never tired of describing its beautiful colour and wonderful symmetry. To the left of the choir is the huge tomb to General Sarego, which has given rise to some controversy. Of the magnificence of the monument there can be no doubt; but it may be questioned whether its gigantic scale does really injure the effect of this fine interior.
From St. Anastasia we went straight across the city to the church of St. Zeno. Our object in doing so was to see, in as short a time as possible from one another, the finest example of Italian Gothic (St. Anastasia), and the church of Zeno, probably the most magnificent Lombardic-Romanesque work in existence.
St. Zeno stands at the far west of the city, almost alone; its magnificent brick and marble campanile standing quite apart from the church. The nave is twelfth-century work, and the choir thirteenth century; internally the latter is raised up upon a crypt which is visible from the nave. The church is supported by alternate piers and columns, shafts of the former being carried up to the roof, thereby breaking the monotony of the vast amount of blank wall between the semicircular arches and the roof. The general effect of the interior is one of extraordinary solidity, but the proportions being so fine, there is no “heaviness” of effect. In the choir is a very curious statue of St. Zeno, sitting most uncomfortably in a chair. He is painted a rich brown colour, holding his episcopal staff, from which is hanging a fish. There are several opinions about this; some describe it as a symbol of baptism, others to the bishop being a famous fisherman. St. Zeno, Bishop of Verona, was an African martyred by Julian the Apostate in the fourth century.
GIOTTO
We bachelors, humbly be it said, were not carried away into violent admiration about either St. Anastasia or St. Zeno. To our mind the lofty, clustered columns of Westminster Abbey are far more beautiful than the heavy, round pillars of St. Anastasia; and the magnificent Norman naves of Durham or Norwich Cathedral, with their open triforia and superb vaulting, seem infinitely more splendid than the nave of St. Zeno with the blank wall-spaces over its arches and its heavy timber roof.
RAPHAEL.THE SPOSALIZIO, OR MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN.[Seep. 235.
RAPHAEL.THE SPOSALIZIO, OR MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN.[Seep. 235.
RAPHAEL.
THE SPOSALIZIO, OR MARRIAGE OF THE VIRGIN.
[Seep. 235.
After leaving St. Zeno we visited the cathedral, a fine Gothic church not very unlikeSt. Anastasia, but much larger; St. Fermo Maggiore, a very interesting church containing a monument of the last branches of the Dante family; and Santa Maria in Organo, remarkable amongst other things for its choir stalls and the intarsia work in its sacristy.
It was getting towards evening when we found ourselves again at the old Roman Arena; and we mounted the steps of the latter in order to take one last look at the ancient city. The sun was setting behind the St. Gothard Alps, which glittered like silver, while nearer were the lesser mountains, spurs of the Alps, telling out dark blue; and gathered under our feet were the numberless red brick buildings, churches, towers, and old walls of Verona. It was a beautiful sight, and rendered doubly romantic by the solemn stillness. In these old Italian cities there is often a quiet and absolute silence, which is almost startling to our bustling ears—partly accounted for by the Italians, or North Italians, at any rate never descending to that vulgar rowdyism which the lower classes in our cities take so much delight in.
We got back to our hotel quite late in the evening, after one of the most pleasant days of the whole tour. Notwithstanding our fatigue, however, we could scarcely sleep, so great was our excitement at the idea that to-morrow we should be in Venice—that wonderful city which the older bachelor, at all events, was more anxious to see than any place in the world.
We were, however, to see Padua first, and as the train started early in the morning for that city, we had scarcely had enough sleep, when we were awakened by thefemme de chambre, who informed us that the breakfast was ready.
The day on which we left Verona was broiling hot, and the two bachelors, being still tired, went soundly to sleep in the railway carriage. Now, this was a mistake, for Padua is not very far from Verona, and we had only just time to get into a comfortable sleep when we were awakened by the train stopping, and had to rush about the station to look after our luggage, which, after a great deal of trouble, we were able to leave with a porter for the few hours we had to see the city.
Immediately on leaving the station we were much worried by a tout, whom we found almost impossible to get rid of. This and our being awakened from our sleep threw us into a very bad temper, and caused us to express very qualified views as to each other’s intellects and characters. One of the bachelors declares that the other threw mud at him—but this must be only taken in a figurative sense; and one of them (we won’t say which) began to express views respecting the ancient buildings and monuments of Padua something in the style of Mark Twain.
As before stated, it was a broiling day, and we scarcely remember anything more delightful than the delicious coolness of the church of the Eremitani, the first we visited in Padua. This huge church would not be particularly remarkable if it were not for its fine frescoes adjoining the right transept. The best of these are by Andrea Mantegna, a great Paduan master of the end of the fifteenth century, celebrated for his “lifelike” work. But the interest attached to these frescoes sinks into insignificance when compared with those by Giotto in the Arena chapel close to the church of the Eremitani, the importance of which can scarcely be overrated.
Our girls may remember that, when speaking about the Brera Gallery, we mentioned the name of Giotto, and as this painter exercised such a great influence over art, it may not be out of place to take this opportunity of saying a few words about him.
Giotto di Bondoni, born in 1276, has been called the father of modern Italian art, a title given to him on account of the vast progress his pictures show over those of any of his predecessors or contemporaries. Let anyone compare the pictures of Giotto with those of Cimabue, his master, and the most famous representative of the earlier school, and they will see this. Note the bright colour and infinitely greater expression in the former; also the movement, and the less conventional attitudes of the figures. Giotto was also the first to introduce anything approaching to dramatic effect in the art of painting, for which and other reasons he made a reputation far greater than had yet been made in painting—so great, in fact, that it was not surpassed until the age of Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michel Angelo, the great trio of Italian artists, who may be said to have perfected that style of painting of which Giotto was the first representative.
The little Arena chapel at Padua is completely covered by frescoes of Giotto, which are amongst the finest examples of his work to be found out of Florence. The subjects represent the history of Christ and of the Virgin, the former being much more admirable; indeed, some of the subjects, especially the Crucifixion and the Pietá, will compare with any of the master’s work. The two bachelors were a long time looking at and admiring these frescoes, and that they were allowed to do so alone added not a little to their enjoyment. One pays a fee for seeing the Arena chapel, and is given a plan and description of the paintings. This is a great advantage, for it renders the attendance of a guide superfluous, and one is excused the attendance of a dirty little garlic-smelling man, who keeps up an incessant chattering in bad French or execrable English, half of which one does not understand, and the other half Bædeker tells far better.
Having but a short time to see Padua, we tried to find our way at once to the famous church of St. Antonio, known as “Il Santo”; we, however, took about three hours to do so, during which time we saw many interesting churches, some containing frescoes.
The two great painters of this city were the before-mentioned Mantegna, and Squarcione, the founder of the Paduan school. The work of both these painters is remarkable for its scholarly character, to be accounted for from the fact of Padua being the seat of a great university (founded as early as 1238), which attracted learned men from all parts of Europe; and naturally the school of art was influenced by the conflux of scholars and scientific men, which made Padua so important a city in the Middle Ages.
Nearly all the streets in Padua are flanked with arcades, which add much to the picturesqueness of its thoroughfares. We, of course, sought out Il Salone, the palace celebrated for its huge hall, said to be the largest unsupported by columns in the world. The walls of this hall are completely covered with frescoes, nearly 400 in number, more remarkable for their strange subjects than their value as works of art. At one end of the hall is a huge wooden horse; very ugly, the bachelors thought, though it was designed by the great Florentine, Donatello.
After seeing Il Salone the bachelors wandered about for an hour or so, and at last came in sight of the monstrous church of St. Antonio. As this is the work of the greatest architect of the Gothic period in Italy, Nicolo Pisano, we suppose that we ought to have been much struck by it; but we confess that we were not, at any rate by its exterior. The domes, seven in number, bear a most unfortunate resemblance to so many dish-covers, and the kind of circular drums or towers on which they are placed have a kind of truncated look, as if they have been cut short, and were intended to have been much higher.
The west front, though adorned with Gothic arcades, has a bald, sprawling look about it, and does not seem to “fit” the church properly. The sides of the building, moreover, are positively ugly, and there is only one point from which it really looks well, and that is a garden near the east end, where the domes are seen rising up over a group of trees.
The first impression of the interior is rather one of baldness, but when one arrives halfway up the church, and the exquisite chapel of St. Antonio in one of the transepts, a most lovely work by Sansovino, and the very beautiful Gothic altar and screen in the opposite transept are opened out to the view, the first impression is at once corrected.
Perhaps in the whole of Italy there is not to be found a more perfect example of the Renaissance than the exquisite chapel of St. Antonio. It opens from the transept by five arches, the detail and proportion of which are simply perfect. On the opposite wall are five similarly-treated blank arches, filled in with extremely elaborate bas-reliefs, beneath the centre of which is the altar. A semicircular barrelled vault, adorned with detail, perfectly bewildering from its intricacy and delicacy, covers the space between the two arcades. It is certainly a matter for regret that the Renaissance architecture of Italy did not stand still at this beautiful epoch, instead of developing into the wildness and eccentricity of the later school.
On emerging from St. Antonio the bachelors were astonished to find the sky overcast, and to notice the suspicious gusts of wind which generally precede a storm. The latter, however, did not approach Padua, but contented itself by grumbling about in the distant Alps. We were only too glad to be spared its visitation, especially as we were anxious to have a moonlight night by which to form our first impression of Venice.
Scarcely any Englishman ever visits Italy without bothering his friends about his first impression of Venice. But in all probability these first impressions are not formed from the place itself, but from photographs purchased in Oxford-street.
It has always been a question whether the enjoyment which one experiences in seeing a place of great interest about which one knows nothing from pictorial representations, or that experienced upon arriving at one of which every street—nay, almost every stone—has been made familiar by representations, is the greater. Some people have asserted that it is almost impossible not to feel a kind of disappointment upon seeing any place about which one has read very much and has seen very frequently represented. If this be the case, Venice ought to be a disappointment, because no city has been more described, painted, engraved, and photographed. Yet, does it disappoint? Our grandfathers were perhaps in one way fortunate in the fact that Venice must have appeared to them more strange, more wonderful, and more poetical than it can ever appear to us. It is true they must often in fancy have stood upon the Bridge of Sighs—“A palace and a prison on each hand.” They must in fancy have wandered over the Rialto, and have dreamed of marble palaces, their steps washed by the Adriatic. But with them it must have been a mere dream, without form or shape. With us, however, Venice is a thorough reality before we see it. The Campanile of St. Mark, the Doge’s Palace, the white domes of the Salute are almost as well known to those who have never been to Venice as to those who have lived in the place. Consequently, the great element of surprise must to a great extent be wanting to all those who now visit this city.
There are no two places in the world the approach to which excites one so much as Rome and Venice. Rome, according to allaccount, and notwithstanding the stupendous remains of its ancient monuments and the wonders of its churches, seems always to disappoint. Even a man who approached it with the feelings of Cardinal Newman does not disguise the fact that, pictorially, at any rate, it in no way realises his preconceived notions; and Charles Dickens compares the first appearance of it to London, and seems almost to hesitate whether he would not give the palm to the latter city. But with Venice who shall say? The mind of man can call up palaces which are more beautiful than hands have ever raised. The imagination can raise up air-built structures which no architect, however able, or builder, however skilful, can execute: and, therefore, every city about which one has thought much must be to a certain extent disappointing at first, and it requires a touch of reality to restore the mind to its proper equilibrium; and it is after this has been done that one must judge of the true impression made upon it by any place, scene, or building. Perhaps the old-fashioned saying that “second thoughts are best” may convey our meaning, and one must not judge from one’s first impression of such a city as Venice, or be astonished that one’s first feeling is one of disappointment. Though when the mind has become sobered sufficiently to take in all the various beauties of this matchless place, then one should ask oneself the question, “Is it disappointing?” Whether it proved so to the two bachelors our readers will see in our next chapter.
(To be continued.)