XV.

XV.VENICE AND VERONA.VENICE.Therain continued while we proceeded to Venice, but cleared off shortly before we arrived at our journey’s end, about five o’clock. The country for some distance from Bologna is very flat, and was then full of water, but rich and verdant. We passed the towns of Ferrara, Rovigo, and Padua. In approaching the old city Padua, the country becomes hilly. This university town arrests attention by its domes and towers, and seemed to invite a visit; but one cannot see everything in a single tour. Venice is only twenty-two miles distant from Padua, but the railway takes nearly two hours to reach it. At last we arrived at a broad lagune, separating the mainland from the island city, and crossed by a railway viaduct apparently about two miles long. From this bridge, gazing from the carriage windows, we saw lying before us at a little distance, like fairyland, Venice, as if floating on the water, a strange sight! On arriving at the station, which is real stone and lime, resting on veritable ground, and very much like railway stations elsewhere, except that no omnibuses or cabs wait arrival, the exit is to the banks of the Grand Canal. We were met outsideby thecommissionaireof the Hotel Danieli (Royal), who gave us in charge of a boatman; and leaving thecommissionaireto bring the luggage afterwards, we had our first experience—a new and curious one—of a gondola on the canals of Venice. The boatman took us a certain length along the Grand Canal, and then, as I found the post office could be reached on the way, we turned aside into a narrow canal to a place which it would have required infinite trouble to discover, secured our letters, and an early ingiving of our address, and thence went on to the hotel, which is nicely situated on the Riva degli Chiavoni,—a broad quay recently formed along the Great Canal di San Marco from the Piazzetta at the Doge’s Palace, eastward, I suppose, about 1000 yards, while a continuation of the walk westward from the Piazzetta has been made in the Royal Gardens fronting the Royal Palace. This situation is decidedly the best in Venice. It faces the south, and the views from it are open and surpass others. The hotel is within a stone-throw of the Doge’s Palace, and people can at once get out from it to the open fresh air, walk freely about, and visit many of the objects of greatest interest without stepping into a gondola, or picking their way along the numerous narrow and tortuous streets or lanes intersecting Venice, which are extremely perplexing to a stranger. Most of the other hotels are situated upon the canals,—sometimes in sunless interior parts,—with communications behind by these narrow lanes with the landward parts of the town; and they want the advantage of the quay in front, which with the shipping always affords a lively, interesting promenade.Rain fell during the evening, but next morning we sallied out to see a little of this wonderful place. It is a curious sensation to see for the first time a town like Venice, whose leading features by means of pictures have been familiar to us from childhood; but no pictures ever comeup to the reality. We stood for a little upon the pretty bridge which crosses a narrow canal, and looked up to the renowned Bridge of Sighs, which, at a considerable elevation over this small canal, connects the east side of the Doge’s Palace with the prison. The façade of the palace upon this side exhibits a combination of elegance with an appearance of massive strength, to which the lower tiers of masonry, formed of rows of tooth-shaped or square diamond-pointed bosses (they perhaps have a technical name), similar to the enrichments on Crichton Castle (Midlothian), very much contribute. Then we passed the well-known south front of the Doge’s Palace to the Piazzetta separating the Doge’s from the Royal Palace—a wide, open space, wherein stand the two red granite pillars one sees in every representation of this part of Venice; the one surmounted by the winged lion, and the other by the former patron of the Republic, San Teodoro, who was turned out by the mundane authorities and succeeded in office by San Marco, such patrons having no will of their own in the bestowal or withdrawal of their patronage. Then walking up by the west side of the Palace, we entered the large open square called the Piazza di San Marco, nearly 600 feet long, by, at the east end, 270 feet wide, narrowing to 180 feet at the west end, and presenting on each side a handsome façade in the Italian style, the lower floor being occupied with shops and cafés under arcades. The Church of St. Mark forms the east side of this Piazza. Near to it, on the south-east of the Piazza, its lofty campanile rises; while opposite the famous clock tower and clock form a portion of the north side.But the eye is first arrested by the cathedral. There is in St. Mark’s a mixture of styles, but its predominating Byzantine style of architecture, so different from what one is ordinarily accustomed to,—its façade, so beautifully ornamented by pictorial representations in mosaic, brightand vivid in their colouring; its mosque-like domes; its pierced pinnacles; its graceful lines and cresting statues; its numerous rich, and all differing, marble columns (500 outside and in),—give to the whole a magnificence of effect which fixed us to the spot, gazing in admiration from beside the noticeable and noted flagstaffs planted in front. The pause was fatal to peace. We were immediately surrounded by a small swarm of touters, quick to scent fresh blood, and eager to be employed to show the way into St. Mark’s and give imperfect or perhaps altogether unintelligible accounts of the edifice. Brushing them aside, on entering our first impression of the interior was of darkness and dirt. The place is 900 years old, and the sun was at the time under a cloud. The floor is very uneven, having sunk at many places in a series of waves, as if it had once rested on the Adriatic, and the traces of its motion had been left behind. The mosaics, which cover many thousand square feet, and are very old, are cracked, and have given way in several parts; but it was a very curious, peculiar church, and it grew upon one the longer it was looked at. On this occasion we contented ourselves with a general view of the interior, spending more than an hour in doing so, and in seeing the ‘Presbyterio,’ which was shown by the sacristan. The choir of the church is raised above the ground floor of the main body, and is railed off by a parapet or screen, adorned by eight columns and surmounted by fourteen statues and a large central crucifix. It is reached by a few steps, and there hangs in front of it, suspended from the ceiling, a massive silver lamp—a peculiar adornment. Here are the high altars with their costly ornaments, and the principal curiosities and valuables (some of them very ancient) of the church; among others, two pillars said to be from Solomon’s temple. These, with the Pala d’Oro (an elaborately-wrought gold screen), the bronze bas-reliefs, the statues, all contribute to the interest. But other people are waiting, and we are hurried through.By this time it was nearly twelve o’clock, and we went outside to see the clock strike. The clock tower is a large broad building six storeys high, topped by a short central tower forming an additional storey. On the façade, a large dial marks the hours up to twenty-four, according to old Italian time, and some other astronomical mutations. Over the dial there is a statue of the Virgin, and on the top of the tower, surmounted by a golden lion, two bronze giants with sledge-hammers strike the hours, whereupon, by means of machinery, three puppet kings, preceded by an angel, stagger out at a door on one side of the Virgin, and passing jerkily along, each in turn, as it arrives opposite her, bows to her stiffly with puppet grace, marches on, and with a twitch disappears at another door, both doors closing after all have done their duty. A crowd watched the performance, which we were in luck to see, as after Whitsunday the show does not take place for some length of time.This important event witnessed, we walked round the Piazza, which at night is a gay scene—lights blazing, a band of music performing, and the whole square filled with people. In the day-time it is comparatively quiet. Here and in an adjoining street the shops of Venice are concentrated. They are small boxes resembling very much the little shops in the Palais Royal in Paris, though not so rich in jewellery or so well stocked with merchandise. In many of them there are always for sale little models of gondolas in all kinds of material, from silver to leather and wood. In others photographs are sold, the photos of Venice being noted as remarkably good; and they are printed, I think, on rather thicker paper than elsewhere, but they are slightly dearer than those in the South of Italy. There are also shops in which the famous Venetian glass is sold. The manufacture of glass is a great trade in Venice, and one sees among them very beautiful samples of the work, embracing articles in iridescent glass;but as the manufacturers have agents in London, it is not very desirable to purchase such frail commodities to take so far home. People, however, do so, and probably they would not purchase at home; while it is certainly true that purchases made in distant places of what is peculiar to the place acquire a value which never attaches to the same things procured in one’s own country. On a subsequent day we visited one of the glass and mosaic works, which our gondoliers (for some unaccountable reason, if we put aside personal motives and small commissions which the brave gondolier must assuredly be above accepting) were always pressing we should stop at. The manufacture is interesting, but one feels under an obligation to purchase in requital for attention, and really the prices asked were forbiddingly high.In the afternoon of this our first day, we had our first real experience of going about in a gondola. The gondolas are all, by order of the authorities, to prevent expensive rivalry in colours, painted black, and they have therefore a very funereal look. One would think that, as it is merely uniformity which is desired, a brighter colour might have been chosen, and for this everybody would plead. Just fancy all our street cabs of the colour of funeral carriages! Some of the gondolas, perhaps all of them, have wooden removable covers, analogous to waggonette covers, which for wet weather may be very useful; but, generally speaking, they have, at least in warm weather, white or light-coloured linen canopies stretched on rods for protection from the sun, which was very hot during our stay. These canopies, however, interfere with the view, and as we had not the Continental dread of the sun, we used at once to desire them to be taken down. It is marvellous how one rower, who rows upon one side of the boat, manages to propel it steadily along. On one occasion, however, we had a gondolier who shook the boat from stem to stern at every step, owing to some awkwardness he had inmanaging his foot or his oar, rendering the shaking motion most unpleasant; but with this exception (and we took care to avoid this man again), sailing in the gondolas we found to be one of the most delightful ways of going about, gliding noiselessly through the water, and continually passing others similarly engaged. The dexterity with which the boatman steers is somewhat marvellous. He will, for instance, approach a rope stretched from a ship, and pass under it, the high prow clearing it by an inch. Again, on entering the narrow canals (in doing which the men always sing out a peculiar warning cry), or making a turn in one of them, these long boats were managed most adroitly. The fares for the gondolas are very moderate, being with one gondolier 1 franc (lira) for the first hour, and half a franc for every other. If two men be employed, the fare is doubled. The boatmen, however, generally seem to expect more than their fare, and even on giving more, as we always did, we never were thanked. Whenever a gondola stops at a place, and we had continual stoppages, there is an officious man waiting to hook the boat with his stick, for which he expects a soldo, value one halfpenny.On occasion of our first trip we crossed the Canal di San Marco (really an arm of the sea) to the island di San Georgio Maggiore, on which has been built the church of that name, which, with its dome and columned front, and its high, conspicuous campanile, is a boldly prominent and graceful object from the town. The main attraction inside the church is its beautiful carved wooden choir, representing the life of St. Benedict, executed by Alberto di Bruli, of Flanders. It is likewise filled with marbles, bronzes, and paintings; after examining which we ascended the campanile and had a splendid view of Venice and of all the islands. The view from it, indeed, is somewhat better than that which we subsequently had from the campanile of San Marco, which looks rather directly down upon Venice.From this island we rowed across to another long island called La Guidica, forming one side of the canal of the same name; and on this island is the church of Il Redentore, which contains some fine marbles, and in the sacristy some paintings by Bellini.But it would be almost endless to describe the various churches which in the course of our short stay we visited. Most of them are adorned by pictures by Titian or by other great masters, by monumental sculptures, and by every other species of ornamentation. I shall only mention the names of some, with a remark.The church of San Sebastian, containing the tomb of Paul Veronese, and some of the finest specimens of that artist’s works. Santa Maria della Salute, nearly opposite the Royal Palace, and at the entrance to the Grand Canal—a vast church, which with its domes forms a striking leading feature of Venice. It was erected after the plague of 1630, and the only wonder is that there is not an annual plague in Venice, the smells are so atrocious. The old church of San Stephano, with its statues, monuments, and bronzes. When we visited it, a grand funeral service was being performed; the singers led by a man with a baton,—very unlike real mourning. The church of Santa Maria dei Frari, full of monuments, paintings, and statues, but its main attractions are the magnificent marble monuments to the memory of Titian and Canova, in two very different styles of art. The church of the Scalzi, or barefooted friars, gorgeously ornamented with marbles from all parts of the world, some of the marbles being cut in curious imitation of drapery and cushions. The church of the Jesuits, decorated in a strange, florid style with black and white marble—in imitation of damask patterns, I presume, inlaid somewhat like mosaics—pillars and pilasters and other parts being all so covered, as if with cloth, in black and white damask. It is elaborate and peculiar, and looks like a freak in architecture. Thechurch of San Giovanni et Paolo, a grand old place, full of magnificent altars, fine columns, and gorgeous monuments, most of them to Doges, very many of whom are buried here. This church is therefore regarded as the Venetian Westminster Abbey. The chapel del Rosario was an adjunct to it, and when entire must have been of exquisite beauty, as is evident from the remains of the sculpture. It was, unhappily, set on fire by an incendiary in 1867, whereby many fine paintings were destroyed, including a grand one by Titian. The keeper of the chapel had photographs of the sculpture for sale; but, as usual when offered at show places, asked extravagant prices.The palaces, however, of Venice are among its main attractions. They line almost continuously the Grand Canal, and are to be found occasionally in the side canals. Formerly the abodes of the old nobility, probably few of them are now occupied by private proprietors. To appearance, the majority of them are diverted to other uses—some as government offices, others as hotels, others as museums, and, I suspect, even in some cases for purposes of trade and manufacture. For any one to attempt to describe them in few pages would be vain, and they require the aid of the pictorial art to realize them. Fortunately, good photographs of many of them can be procured. They are imposing, and not infrequently very beautiful buildings. Their design is in some cases a species of fanciful Gothic, and in others the heavier style of the Renaissance; but a character of their own pervades them, denoting them Venetian. Our architects at home occasionally reproduce them in our public buildings, with variations. No two are alike. Their variety is pleasing, and age has in many imparted a rich colouring to the stone or marble of which they are built. In nearly all the balcony is a prominent feature; and no doubt on many grand occasions their balconies were crowded by the fairest of the fair, decked in their best attire,and many bright and loving eyes have peered over balustrades gaily decorated with brilliant hangings on sumptuous pageants passing beneath, and darted captivating glances on favoured gallants taking their part in the spectacles. Long poles stuck into the canal in front of many of the palaces indicate the nobility of the families to which they now or at one time belonged. Some of the rooms in these palaces are very spacious, as, for example, those in the Palazzo Pesaro, a large edifice in the style of the Renaissance, where there was one great hall the whole depth of the house, from the front facing the canal to the back. This room was filled with pictures, some for sale; and, as usual, balconies overlooked the canal, from which we had a charming view of all the life afloat. In the Palazzo Emo-Treves we were shown the two last works of Canova—statues of Hector and Ajax. They are gigantic, and seem rather out of place in a comparatively small room. In other palaces the visitors are conducted through suites of rooms hung with paintings.So numerous are the palaces, that I see eighty-nine are mentioned in a small but useful guide-book, calledA Week in Venice,[41]the churches being about as many in number. The grand palace of all, however, is the Doge’s. This is a magnificent building both inside and out. The admission is by ticket, costing a franc each for the palace itself, with extra tickets for the Bridge of Sighs and the Museum, a small collection. The palace is a square or oblong building, with a large court-yard in the centre, and both externally and on the walls of the court is highly decorated; but there is a heaviness in the upper part of the west and south exterior façades, and a dumpiness about the windows with which these parts are pierced, which could never reconcileme to them. Even the lower part in its arcading wants relief. Thirty-four Gothic arches in a row, and all monotonously alike in size and figure, however beautiful individually, without a break loses in effect. The entrance from the Piazzetta is by a beautiful Gothic doorway closely adjoining St. Mark’s, richly sculptured. After examining and passing through it, we find ourselves at the foot of the Giant’s Staircase; but the large central square court round which the palace extends arrests the eye, and we enter it to admire the interior façades, particularly those on the east and north. The north side is short and broken, and more diversified than the others, not merely by statues and a peculiar rich ornamentation, but by the domes of St. Mark, which tower over it and claim to be a portion of the structure. But after lingering about this handsome court, and taking a look at the carved bronze wells which are placed in it, and from which water is obtained, ascent is made by the Giant’s Staircase to the first floor, where admission is gained to the portions of the building shown to the public. The arrangement of the rooms is somewhat perplexing to the visitor, requiring a plan which is not anywhere given to guide him through. But we find our way through some immense halls, all decorated by huge pictures principally representing scenes in the history of Venice—real ‘gallery pictures’ in point of extent of canvas, but highly suitable to the noble proportions of the rooms. One picture, not by any means a pleasing one, is the largest in the world, and occupies the whole breadth of an immense room—’Paradise,’ by Tintoretto, who seemed fond of enormous canvases; his chef-d’œuvre, the Crucifixion, in the Scola di S. Rocco, being also huge. The ceilings of the rooms in the palace, some of them lofty, are also, according to Italian practice, embellished with paintings and massive gilding; but labour and expense seem greatly thrown away, it is such a strain to look up to them. In one large room, just below the ceiling, in a running row, portraits areseen of all the Doges, 120 in number, commencing in the year 697 and ending 1797, a period of exactly 1100 years. One of them, however, as a traitor to Venice, is painted under veil. These portraits in all likelihood are, at least among the earlier Doges, as reliable as are those of the early kings of Scotland in the gallery of Holyrood Palace, or of those of the earlier popes in certain churches in Rome. The rooms, however, of greatest interest are those in which the Doge and his council assembled in conclave; and one cannot help, when in such rooms, endeavouring to conjure up old scenes happening there, and thinking how the glory of Venice has departed.When in the library we were asked to go into a small room off it, where we were shown some old MSS., and a fine old unique breviary, with most beautiful illuminated illustrations. It has been or is being photographed, and I presume copies will be for sale.The dungeons, which are seen by crossing the Bridge of Sighs, are, so far as shown, small, but sufficiently repellent.The Doge’s Palace abuts upon the church of St. Mark, which we rarely passed without entering. On Whitsunday (20th May 1877) a grand service was held in the church. The singing was performed by about from twelve to twenty choristers in the organ gallery, with a leader. The voices were splendid, and the music very fine. On another occasion we walked round the gallery of the church under guidance of an attendant, and examined the mosaics, of which one thus gets a nearer view. They are imposing, but unfortunately are giving way in many places. At a west window we were taken outside to see the four fine bronze horses over the portal, which form a feature in the ornamentation of the façade. The horses are, however, in size small, and apparently not sufficiently gigantic for the situation.In the Piazza di San Marco immense flocks of pigeons are always to be seen; they are kept under the protection of the city, the law being that to kill or ill-treat them is a punishable offence. Every day at two o’clock they are regularly fed with grain, and they are said to know the time so exactly as to arrive for their dinner from all quarters at the precise hour. It is certainly remarkable to see how tame they are, being quite devoid of the fear and dread of man, perching all over any stranger who will feed them, with as much confidence as if they were with Adam or Eve in the Garden of Eden.After we had seen a good deal of Venice we ascended the campanile of St. Mark. This is a wide square tower, and by a commodious sloping internal ascent the belfry is attained, where we get among the bells. The hours are struck by a man stationed to pull the ropes and watch for fires, which, when he discovers, he notifies to the proper quarter—a useful, but, I fear, a rare species of precaution against this species of calamity. The view from this tower (which is 322 feet high to the hair of the angel’s head, an altitude which I need scarcely say we did not attempt) is commanding, ranging over the city and lagunes, looking, however, as I have already said, a little too directly down upon the roofs of the houses below. However, one gets a pretty clear idea of the map of Venice, with its multifarious canals, islands, and narrow streets. As stated by Bædeker, the ‘15,000 houses and palaces of Venice (population, 128,901) are situated on 3 large and 114 small islands, formed by 147 canals, connected by 378 bridges (most of them stone), and altogether about 7 miles in circumference.’ I occasionally endeavoured to thread my way through the narrow streets of Venice, and considered it rather an achievement the first time I managed to pioneer through all the intricacies of the passage from the Piazza San Marco to the Ponte Rialto and back again. This famous bridge isa graceful marble arch, of one span of 74 feet, across the Grand Canal. An elegant marble balustrade protects each side, the space on the bridge being divided into three footways by two covered arched or arcaded buildings used as shabby little shops, which one would gladly see abolished, being so little in keeping with the handsome character of the bridge. Here at the Rialto there are also markets on either side of the canal, for the sale of fruit and other things.Situated on the Grand Canal, but nearer to the railway station, is the Museo Correr, in which we found a collection of pictures, armour, and curiosities, of no great extent, but said to be valuable. The Palazzo Marcello (proprietor, Richetti) contains a quantity of ‘antiquities,’ curiosities, bronzes, and other things manufactured for sale, some of them curiously designed.Nearer to the principal part of the town the Academia delle Belle Arti lies—a very extensive collection of paintings in twenty large halls, besides smaller rooms, the pictures numbering in all 679. These are all, with the exception of a few of the Dutch school, if I am not mistaken, the works of Italian artists, most of them by the great masters, and many on a large scale. Among others is what is considered Titian’s masterpiece—’The Assumption of the Virgin,’ a clear and brilliant, a glorious work in point of drawing and colour. In fact, the colour is perhaps rather too strong in reds and blues. One great canvas, a grand picture by Paul Veronese of the banquet in Levi’s house, occupies the entire breadth of the largest hall. The banquet is represented as held under a remarkably Venetian-looking light colonnade, open to the outer air, and peopled by characters evidently clothed in Venetian attire of the painter’s era. But it scarcely does to scan such works of art with too much regard to accessories. What appears to be thefavourite picture is another Veronese—a Virgin with a young, naked, little St. John the Baptist standing on a pedestal, with legs to appearance (it may be merely the effect of shade) of unequal lengths. There were half a dozen painters when we were there, engaged in copying the chubby St. John. Copies of it may be seen in many of the shops of Venice. They are, I fancy, favourites with the ladies. We paid only one visit to the Academy, but it would take several visits to do its galleries justice.The arsenal of Venice, dating back to the year 1104, is well worthy of a visit for the sake of its museum, an interesting collection of arms and models of ships, particularly of the grand state gondolas; nothing but the museum is apparently shown to the ordinary visitor. The arsenal is not so extensive as it once was. Admission is had by simply entering one’s name in the visitors’ book, and, as usual at all these show places where admission is not by payment, giving a small fee to thecustodes, one being stationed in each hall.A steamboat, large enough for the traffic, sailed every hour from the quay in front of our hotel to the island of Lido, about two miles distant. We crossed in it one afternoon; and the sail is interesting, as the vessel passes the other islands, and fine views are had from it of the town, and, in the distance, of the mountains of the Tyrol. The island of Lido is long and narrow. Upon landing we walked across to the other side, about half a mile of road. Here we were on the borders of the Adriatic. The island is a bright little spot with a few buildings on it. Returning, we got on board just in time to escape, under cover of its awning, a thunder-shower which came pelting down very heavily, and lasted all the time we were on board.We had now been eight days in Venice, and had beenconstantly going about seeing much that was to be seen, but yet only seeing it in a superficial way. There was no place in Italy which was more attractive. Its gorgeous palaces and churches, its strange, unique kind of life, the multitudinous canals teeming with gondolas, and the pleasure of moving about in them, was something we never could forget. We saw Venice usually in brilliant sunshine, with everything sparkling in light, although nearly every afternoon, with a severe punctuality which enabled us generally to be prepared for it, black clouds gathered, and a thunderstorm emptied them quickly. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of all was to see Venice in moonlight. One is familiar with photographs of the fair city, tinted with a deep blue in imitation of moonlight effect, a white spot being picked out for the moon herself (as, of course, the photographs are taken during the day), and I can hardly say that there is in these pictures much, if any, exaggeration. The blueness of the sky, and of everything with which the light is tinged in moonlight, is something remarkable and very lovely, while the effect is increased when the moon, getting behind a cloud, gives to the cloud a luminous edging of silver.We were exceedingly unwilling to leave this bright fairyland, but became afraid to stay longer. The fact is, that with all its attractiveness Venice has not, at least to a stranger, the feeling of healthiness. It drains into the canals, where the tide rises and falls only 2 feet, and has not force sufficient to carry off the drainage. The effluvium from the narrow canals is sometimes overpowering, and yet it is said, as it is said of so many other places one might imagine insalubrious, that Venice is naturally so healthy that the people are notedly long-lived; and, indeed, one instance of this occurs in the case of Titian, who lived to the patriarchal age of ninety-nine. How this comes, ‘let doctors tell.’We left on 23d May, pursuing our way up the Grand Canal and under the Ponte Rialto, and on to the railway station,—a long pull, but one we always enjoyed. In fact, if a visitor do nothing but obtain a sail along this canal, he sees the greater part of Venice; just as, though much less completely, a stranger sees much of London by a sail upon the Thames, and would see more were the main buildings, as at Venice, placed upon its banks; which henceforth, perhaps, there is a hope they may be. The canal is, I think, about two miles in length, and on an average not less than 100 feet wide, and is lined by palaces, churches, and houses, in the utmost irregularity of height and diversity of character and style, many of them beautiful, while the canal itself is alive with gondolas; and thetout ensembleis so picturesque, that when the sun shines, as it generally did, everything looks engaging to the eye. One by one we passed and gazed at the palaces (which had become, as it were, old friends) with many a lingering look, as if resolved we never should forget them. But the vision came to an end as we entered the modern and disenchanting railway station, whence we shortly after proceeded on our journey to Verona, the scene ofRomeo and Juliet. Romance was not, therefore, to be quite at an end, and as the train issued out of the railway station the curtain was raised for a momentary glimpse; and slowly wending our way over the lagune by the long viaduct of 222 arches, we looked intently on the floating city, wondering if ever we should see it again. Losing sight of it lying on the one side, attention was forthwith drawn to the other by the line of the Tyrolese mountains, which at some distance were in view, and flanking us nearly the whole way. We passed Padua and Vicenza, and through a country which is flat, but was smiling in the greens of early summer, and after a journey of about seventy miles in four hours reached our destination.VERONA.We had proposed spending two nights at Verona, but American friends who came with us from Venice were anxious to get on to Milan, so that we had just two hours the following morning for a drive about the town. We regretted afterwards that our opportunity was not greater, for it is indeed a place at which one may stay for a few days with advantage. It is very picturesquely situated on the river Adige, and contains a good deal that is interesting. We first drove through the old market-place, where people were busy selling fruit, vegetables, and other things in a piazza surrounded by curious old houses. Then into the Piazza dei Signori, where are some very fine buildings, old and new, and adjoining it a small open space or square closely surrounded by houses, in which the noted and highly decorated tombs of the Scaligers, enclosed within a wall and railing, are seen. Then on to the Arena, which is not so imposing as the Colosseum or even the Arena at Nismes, and although covering more ground than the latter, was seated for fewer spectators; but it is in a very perfect condition—the most perfect, I think, of any we saw in Italy, the large marble slabs of which it is built being nearly all in place. We mounted to the top row, and had an excellent view of the country round about. From this we drove to the church of San Zenone Maggiore, a thousand years old, and very curious. The portal is peculiar, and adorned by rich marble reliefs. Within are some fine old pillars, said to be of single pieces of marble, a crypt, and cloisters—altogether a place of great interest and of striking conformation. We were only sorry we had so little time to examine it minutely, for we could take but a rapid walk round. Returning to town we entered two other churches,—San Fermo Maggiore, with an open ceiling in walnut wood, and the Duomo, which is quaintly ornamented; but we had seen so many Italian churches elsewhere that we were rather attracted to a little building at the end of a garden, said to be the tomb of Juliet. One is fain to believe in it, but as matter of fact it is discredited. This tomb so-called Juliet’s is an elegant, small, open, three-arched vault, or recessed covered place with slender double columns, containing within a sarcophagus. More certainty is attached to what is shown at a different part of the town as Juliet’s window; but, alas for the romance! the window looks into the street, and it has no balcony.ill379TOMB OF JULIET,—VERONA.So rapid a survey was not doing justice to fair Verona. There was much more to be seen in the town, while the river and its bridges and surroundings, and the neighbouring country, all looked so picturesque and inviting, that I have no doubt it is a favourite halting-place for the artist, and it may well repay a visit of some days.XVI.MILAN AND THE ITALIAN LAKES.MILAN.Weleft Verona at mid-day for Milan. The scenery was fine, and for some miles we had Lake Garda, the largest of the Italian lakes, in view, at one part as near as only a mile off. Here we passed over the field of the battle of Solferino, which took place on 24th June 1859. An interest naturally attaches to ground where not many years previously a great battle was fought, and so many events were being enacted terrible to the actors, but there is nothing specially to mark it out. The day had been clear when we started, but before we got to Milan the clouds began to gather, the sky became very black, and we unluckily arrived at four o’clock in a thunderstorm. However, we had not far to drive down the wide Corso to the Hôtel de Ville, which is well situated near the Cathedral, in the principal street of Milan.We were out betimes next morning to see the glorious cathedral. It is certainly a magnificent church, inside and out, built of white marble, and of great size and height, being only inferior in size or extent to St.Peter’s.[42]It was not a little refreshing to see a Gothic church of any sort, after having had so much elsewhere in other styles. It is not divided into or surrounded by chapels, so that it wants the aid which these accessories afford for decoration; and therefore, in contrast with many less pretentious churches, there is a feeling of vacancy about it, although it is devoid of the gloom of the large, empty, dark Duomo of Florence. Fault, no doubt, has been found with the windows that they do not throw down the light sufficiently from above, but the windows themselves are traceried and filled with beautiful stained glass. Upon entering by the great portal at the west, the eye is caught in the far distance by the glimmering colours of the grand east window, whose dimensions are colossal, as may be gathered from the fact that its traceried compartments comprise no fewer than 350 pictures in glass, copies, in many instances, of known paintings. Then the eye is arrested by four long rows of lofty clustered columns—upwards of 50 in number in all—each 8 feet in diameter and 90 feet high, their comparative slenderness giving an airy character to the great interior, which rises in graceful pointed arches in the nave to the height of 152 feet. These pillars are most peculiarly adorned by a sort of double capital, between which are placed in canopied niches sculptured figures or statues in white marble, evincing that herein Milan is master; but somehow they do not attain the effect of a grand capital. The roof is painted in imitation fretwork or open carving, a species of deception which, however well done, is hardly to be expected, or even tolerated, where no cost has otherwise been spared.The exterior has so light and fairy-like an appearance that one can hardly believe it to be of stone, and yet allthe parts which look so light and delicate are in reality massive and substantial marble. The mass or quantity of statues is really surprising. Niches innumerable contain them, studded at every conceivable spot over the huge building. Every one of the countless pinnacles, besides being adorned in successive courses by them, is surmounted by a statue, a mute mast-headed man, patiently and uncomplainingly remaining where he has been ordered to do duty, and so aiding to adorn the magnificent edifice. The number of marble statues inside and outside has been variously computed, but cannot be less than 4000. The central tower may be objected to as fully too small or too light for the size of the building, but it is in style in harmony with the numberless spirelets which rise like a forest around it, sometimes in clusters, and spanned by flying buttresses in lace-like decoration, which give strength and stability to a structure which, if it were not irreverent to say so, has a good deal of the look, in its white purity, of a most gigantic and beautiful bride-cake.We lingered about the cathedral on our first visit for a long time. It was grand to hear the great organ pealing through the vast chamber, although the music was not so fine as it had been at St. Mark’s on the Sunday.The following morning (for while at Milan we never missed seeing it every day) we again entered the church, and found an important service proceeding, apparently either a levée, or, more likely, a consecration of priests. An old bishop wearing a large mitre sat on his throne, and one after another young men ascended and knelt before him, when he placed his paternal hands on the head of each successively, and apparently kissed him. The string of those who thus went up for consecration seemed, like Paddy’s rope, to have had the other end cut off—we thought it would never terminate. But what struck me much was the remarkable want of intelligence in the faces of the oldpriests, particularly those who wore the grandest dresses; they had such a stupid, stolid look, reminding one very much of a ‘donnered auld Hieland porter.’ After witnessing enough of this ceremony, we ascended the stair leading to the summit, admission to which costs a small fee. The cathedral is 360 feet high, if not higher to the topmost point, for here also authorities differ; but the point I reached might not exceed 300 feet, and, if I am not mistaken, there did not seem to be open access to the public to a higher elevation. There are many breaks of the ascent by the way, where one can halt and look around and have a near view of the sculpture, which is by no means coarsely executed; the figures, however, upon the top of these long needle-shaped pinnacles convey a nervous dread of their stability, though, no doubt, securely fastened. About many of them lightning conductors are placed, without which they might only be points of attraction for the electric fluid. The roof of the building is composed of slabs of white marble in neat layers or courses overlapping each other upon a slope of moderate angle, giving a remarkably clean finish to the whole. It was glorious to think of this being a work of man. One could envy the feelings of the architect who had the honour to design and commence it, but did not live to see it completed. It was begun in 1385; the main body was finished thirty-three years later, but the central spire not till the year 1440. It may be said, therefore, that it is 450 years old, and yet it has such a freshness about it that one could readily suppose it is hardly a generation old. They are, however, always making additions to and repairing it. Standing upon the high tower, and surrounded by a forest of marble pinnacles and statues, and by rich sculpture at every point, the eye is yet attracted to the distant view from the summit, which is very magnificent. The country, which for miles from Milan is very flat but verdant, lies spread out in panorama, from Turin, 80 miles distant, to Venice, 150 miles off;but Venice, at least, is too distant to be visible, and I doubt if Turin, even by aid of a glass, can be descried. Right in front to the north, and thence west and east, within a radius of from 80 to 100 miles, the grand mountain ranges of Switzerland lie. We saw some of the snowy peaks, but unfortunately the sky was clouded, and the view of most of them was obscured. But we took note of where Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, and other old friends might have been seen on a clear day, though it would require a good telescope to distinguish the different mountain celebrities. The Italian lakes are, with the exception of Lake Garda, between 30 and 40 miles distant, but, shut in by the mountains, they are not visible, although we imagined we could make out their situation. The city of Milan lay compactly spread out all around just under us, the cathedral standing very much in the centre of all.We were fortunate in getting a tolerably clear day for this ascent. I had intended to go up again on the following Monday, but found it too cloudy to be of any use. Another rather interesting sight, however, was in progress that day within the church; for an immense number of young children—boys and girls—were all seated in long rows round a vacant space, wherein were priests with candles, and an archbishop or some other dignitary, who was going round them. The girls were all dressed in white with white veils, the boys in their best attire, many of them with white ties and some with white waistcoats. The children seemed to be from seven to fifteen years of age, and by all it was evidently regarded as a grand gala-day—something like a public school examination-day in Scotland, before breaking up for the summer holidays. They were perhaps receiving confirmation. The procession of priests stopped at each child in rotation. The old bishop performed motions with his hands over each—I suppose making the form of the cross over them, and mumbling somethinginaudibly. It must have taken a long time so to go over them all, as there were several hundreds.The people of Milan have wisely left a large vacant space or piazza in front of the cathedral, upon its west side, so that one can admire, without intervening interruption, its beauty from a sufficient distance. On the south side of the piazza, or rather of the cathedral, the Royal Palace, a plain building, is situated. The piazza itself is surrounded on three sides by new and very handsome commercial buildings, which are quite an ornament to the place; and out of it, upon the north side, there has been built, at an expense of no less than £320,000, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele—a splendid arcade, or rather street or streets of stone buildings, laid out in the shape of a cross, covered over by an iron and glass vaulted roof, upon the Crystal Palace model. The main gallery is nearly 1000 feet long, about 50 feet wide, and 94 feet high; and it is occupied in the lower floor by shops, and the upper floors apparently by warehouses or other places of business, the façades being of an elegant style adorned by sculpture. The central dome is particularly graceful, and at night is lighted up by a circle of gas jets placed round the top. These, with the other lights, produce a most brilliant effect, and it is scarcely surprising to find that in the evening the gallery is crowded by the townspeople and strangers, so that passage through it is rather difficult. This gallery—really the most perfect thing of the kind I have seen anywhere—leads out at the other end to another piazza, in the centre of which a very fine marble monument to Leonardo da Vinci has been erected. He stands surrounded by four of his pupils, all of white marble. In another part of the town is the famous picture by that artist of the Last Supper, a fresco which is almost obliterated. The charge for admission to see this celebrated work is at the exorbitant rate of 1 franc per person.There may be seen gratuitously on the streets of Milan a picture of a different kind in the elaborately made-up head-dress of the women. In a pad of hair at the back of the head a dozen or two of long pins, of more or less magnificence, are stuck, in arrangements to suit the fancy of the wearer, but most commonly in a fan shape. It is not for man to pry into the hidden mysteries of the toilet, but it seems scarcely possible for any woman to effect this elaborate tire unaided, nor is it probable that the effect is achieved by a daily effort. The amount of nightly torture by acupressure to which the Milanese women may therefore subject themselves, in obedience to a law of fashion, is not agreeable to contemplate. We can only be grateful.In order to see a little of the town, we took a carriage one afternoon and drove out in the direction of the Piazza d’Armi, a large open space about 2000 feet square, outside the inhabited part of the city. The castle or barracks occupies one side of the square. The noble Arco della Pace, begun by Napoleon in 1804 as a termination to the Simplon route, faces the castle on the west side. It is of the same character as the triumphal arches of the Tuileries at Paris, and the Piazza Cavour at Florence, and is a beautiful three-arched gateway of white marble, Corinthian columns supporting an entablature, on the top of which a hero drives six fiery horses abreast, in utmost peril to himself and them (were they living), while a man on horseback at each of the four top corners, in equal peril and in violent action, holds up a conqueror’s wreath. These figures, being in bronze, will not, it is supposed, readily commit an act of self-destruction.On the north side of the piazza there is a large, modern, oval amphitheatre of wood, and without cover, within which races are held, and capable of accommodating 30,000 spectators.From the piazza we proceeded to visit some of the churches, andinter aliathe church of San Ambrogio,founded by Saint Ambrose in the fourth century. It is entered by passing through a large arcaded court oratriumin front, dating back a thousand years. The church, associated with various events in history, is ancient evidently, and peculiar in its interesting decoration, but not to be compared with that of San Zeno in Verona. On Sundays mass is celebrated, accompanied by the old Ambrogian music, but this we did not hear. The church of San Lorenzo was not far off—also a very ancient building, said, in part at least, to have been built in the fourth century. It is octagonal in form and surmounted by a dome. A colonnade of sixteen large Corinthian columns stands close by, and is thought to have formed part of a Roman building or temple, of which the church may at first have been also a part. All the churches, at the time of our visit, were being decorated for Trinity Sunday.The picture gallery (the Pinacoteca) was unfortunately closed while we were in Milan, so that we missed seeing its frescoes and examples of the great masters. There is apparently not much more to be seen in Milan than what I have mentioned; but it contains some good streets and a public park—not of great extent—embracing within it in a zoological garden a small and not very valuable collection of animals. This park is no doubt a very nice retreat in hot weather. We spent an hour in it one afternoon, and while there witnessed a very novel method of watering the road. Attached to a water-barrel drawn on a cart, was a flexible pipe about five or six feet long and about six inches in diameter, with a bulb at the end perforated with holes. A man walked behind with a rope attached to the bulb, by which he jerked it about so as to spread the water from side to side all across the road. This man, who was endowed with a pair of five-o’clock legs, was, notwithstanding his deformity,—which seemed, indeed, to contribute to his power of dispersing the water,—somewhat of a wag, and witha wicked leer quietly contrived to bestow an amicable sprinkling on the laughing nurserymaids as he passed. The method of watering, however, was both novel and ingenious, and answered its purpose remarkably well. But there was little dust to lay in this rainy quarter; and indeed it never was, while we were in Milan, particularly hot, and perhaps it never is; while in winter-time, especially in December, it is sometimes a place of excessive cold.[43]ITALIAN LAKES.We left Milan for Baveno on Monday, 28th May, at noon. It was a slow train to Arona, where passengers embark on board the steamer on Lago Maggiore. Unfortunately, just before arrival at Arona, the rain began to fall heavily, so that we not only had to walk on board in the rain, but we did not see the lake to advantage. For although the rain shortly ceased, the clouds remained and no sunshine succeeded, and a haze hung over the lake, which then assumed very much the appearance of one of our Highland lochs in similar condition, except for the Italian character and bright colouring of the houses on the margin. On a sunny day the lake would, no doubt, wear a different aspect. Fortunately it continued fair till we got housed in the large, comfortable Hotel Belle Vue at Baveno, which, lying at the point of a jutting promontory upon the border of the lake, looks out right upon it. Soon afterwards, however, the rain again began, and it fell in torrents, to our great disappointment, and continued almost without intermission till the Friday afternoon, when it cleared up, and in the evening of that day we had a beautiful sunset, with the sun shining brightly upon theSimplon, to see which effect all the people in the hotel turned out upon a balcony commanding it. In consequence of the clouds we hardly ever could see across the lake, so much so that I could only finish on the Friday evening a sketch of it which I began on the Monday afternoon upon arrival, the mountains being invisible or under a gloomy pall nearly the whole intervening time. When we could catch the view it was very beautiful. The lake is here just sufficiently broad to form a fine picture, the bold, well-marked, conical mountains on the other or east side,—one of the peaks, I believe, rising to about 6000 feet,—the neighbouring town of Pallanza on the north, and the mountains behind it composing the background to the lake, studded by the charming Borromean Islands, lying so picturesquely near, with their curious houses and their trees; Isola Bella, with its strange gardens, being an especial feature. These islands are the great attraction to Baveno; but unfortunately we had not the opportunity of seeing them, except from the steamboat in passing, as the days were never fair sufficiently long to permit of our venturing in a boat to land upon them. If there be anything else to see in the neighbourhood of Baveno, as doubtless there was, we had little means of becoming acquainted with it, for usually upon venturing out for a walk we were speedily driven back again by warning drops. The town itself is a mere village, although the houses are capacious—bulky, barrack-looking—and the church on the slope above is large, with a high, square, ugly campanile. Luckily, the windows of our rooms, as well as of the public rooms, all looked over the lake; and there was a library of books for visitors’ use, which, in this unpropitious condition of the atmosphere, received marked attention from all; but it was the dreariest time we had spent since we left home, reminding us rather too much of Loch Lomond in its normal condition.When the Saturday morning came with bright sunshinewe were glad to avail ourselves of it, lest we might become prisoners for another week, and to be off accordingly for Lugano, which is situated on a portion of outlying Swiss territory overlapping Italy, so that one has to cross an odd nook of Switzerland to get from Maggiore to Lake Como. The trip in the steamboat is pleasant, and in crossing from Baveno to Pallanza, which is probably about three miles distant by water, we had the good fortune to see both the Simplon and Monte Rosa through a gap in the mountains—the latter raising its snowy head in the distance. Pallanza is a place which some people prefer to Baveno for stopping at in order to see Lago Maggiore. It is much more of a town, and, commanding the view of Monte Rosa, has a finer outlook, while it is not very much farther from Isola Bella and the other islands, a pull to which must be most enjoyable. From Pallanza the steamer crossed to the other side of the lake, then went up to Luino, where we disembarked, and on our leaving it proceeded to the northern extremity with thoseen routefor the St. Gothard Pass. It was a glorious sail in the bright sunshine, with Monte Rosa, the Simplon, and also, in the upper portion, St. Gothard, all appearing snow-clad in view. The porter of the hotel had asked us to allow him to telegraph for a carriage to be waiting us at Luino, and willing to oblige him we consented, but we should have been better to have chosen one for ourselves upon arrival. However, it was a lovely drive of above two hours and a half to Lugano, part of the way being by the banks of a river, which was greatly swollen by the five days’ previous rain. The Hotel du Parc at Lugano is nicely situated near the lake at the entrance to the town, and has a small garden attached to it. It was formerly a monastery, and is built as a large square house, with a courtyard in the middle. Bædeker recommends Lugano as a very pleasant place for a lengthened stay; and it may be so, but we were anxious to get on to Lake Como to rest there, and remained only three nights.Hot sunny weather succeeded the week of rain, so that we enjoyed walks by the banks of the gleaming lake, plucking the wild-flowers, which were abundant, though not of many kinds. The town of Lugano looks very well in the distance—a mile off—at the head or north end of the lake, but it is not particularly enticing in itself, and it lies too much on the level of the water, so that the road was, when we arrived, half covered, the lake having, in consequence of the continued rain, overflowed its banks. The Lake of Lugano looks bold, and in a storm would look angry, from the fact that except at the north end the mountains appear to dip almost sheer down upon it. I believe the sail from the other end to Lugano (which is what those who purchase circular tickets from Milan obtain a coupon for) is very grand, but a gentleman I subsequently met told me he had experienced a terrific storm upon it, in which the vessel was in the greatest danger, as the sailors could not see where they were being driven to, by reason of a dense fog.Upon the Monday we walked in a broiling sun, from which we could not always obtain shelter, about two miles up the road leading to the top of San Salvatore, which, 3000 feet high, is the great ascent here, and to those in good health and active, the exercise is rewarded by an extensive prospect, while a hotel offers refreshment on the summit. Choosing shady places where to rest, we spent a charming day upon this road, which everywhere commanded fine views, particularly down upon the lake and up to the snowy mountains of the St. Gothard range.In the old church adjoining the hotel there are three frescoes by Luini, a pupil of Leonardo da Vinci. The principal fresco, that of the Crucifixion, is a curious large picture, containing within it, expressively depicted and cleverly arranged, all the different scenes connected with the death of our Saviour, from His trial to His ascension. But the three crosses are lengthened to what represents 20 feet at least, in order to admit of use being made of thebackground. Many angels are ministering to our Lord, while one angel is on the cross of the repentant thief, and a devil crawling along the other cross has charge of his sinful fellow. A skull and cross-bones at the foot of the central cross indicate the place to be Golgotha. The picture is quite a study.We left Lugano for Bellaggio on the Monday morning by steamer for Porlezza, at the east end of the lake, about ten miles distant. Before reaching it we crossed the invisible line which here separates Italy from Switzerland, and the steamer was boarded by an Italian custom-house officer. Upon arrival at Porlezza our luggage underwent the formality of examination, and we the reality of detention for a considerable time until the examination was concluded. From this town to Menaggio, on Lake Como, the drive was in an omnibus, and we regretted much afterwards not having had a carriage to ourselves, as we could see little from the omnibus windows. The distance is about six or seven miles, and inclines gradually to the shoulder of a hill overlooking Lake Como; and in such a bright, sunny day as we were favoured with, the drive in an open carriage would have been delightful, especially on approaching Lake Como from the high ground, where it is seen lying magnificently below. One advantage of a private carriage is that it may be stopped at the will of the party, and the scene viewed at leisure. Coach and omnibus fares here were quite after Highland rates. At Menaggio, finding the steamboat would not arrive for an hour and a half, we took a boat (charge, 3 fr.), and were in three-quarters of an hour rowed across the lake to the Hotel Grand Bretagne, which is nicely situated away to the south end of Bellaggio, and outside the small town. It was hot, broiling sunshine, and this, our first experience of a boat upon Como, was exceedingly charming. Blinds were all down, and nobody observed our arrival, so our boatman had to shout from the quay across the garden to the hotel porter. We found very comfortable quarters in this hotel, which is a large, long building, with many bedrooms looking to the lake; for, if I am not mistaken, there were upwards of 100 bedroom windows overlooking it. The ground floor is entirely occupied by a suite of public rooms, terminating at one end in a large, airy dining-hall, and on the other in a superb, similarly large drawing-room, both with suitably lofty ceilings. Other public rooms on this floor are occupied assalles à mangerandsalons de conversation,de concert et de lecture,de billiard, etc. In one of the reading-rooms there was a small library for the use of the visitors. I do not think we had found anywhere such ample public accommodation within doors, while in front a large garden extended the whole length of the house, reaching up into grounds and a wood behind, with shady seats under the trees, where one could sit and read, or look out upon the lovely views, or watch the passing steamers and pleasure-boats, or observe the countless green lizards which at Bellaggio, as elsewhere in these warm regions, were constantly making rapid runs over the paths.ill393BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.Here we remained for about a fortnight, resting and enjoying our rest. From our windows we looked across to lofty mountains on the opposite shore, with Cadenabbia and Menaggio lying at their foot, while away to the north end of the lake a range of snowy peaks rose as if barricading exit in that direction, and forming a fine, important feature in the landscape. The Lake of Como is in fact completely hemmed in by high, steep, bare mountains, which fall with considerable abruptness down upon it, leaving but a small border of land for cultivation and habitation. The principal mountain opposite Bellaggio is San Crucione, which rises to a sharp peak, taking six or seven hours to ascend; but it is stated to command striking views of the snowy Alps, and especially of the Monte Rosa chain, ‘une arméede géants.’ The mountain itself is no doubt a study for the geologist, as it offers a most extraordinary exhibition of upheaval of strata, the face of it showing in a great waving line, commencing near the margin of the lake and sloping up the face to near the top, a huge stratum of rock, which in the distance appears to be of sandstone, but more likely is of limestone formation, uplifted probably nearly 3000 feet.The borders of Lake Como are fringed with trees, in some places a few hundred feet up, and dotted with those small, picturesque Italian villages, each with its church and campanile, which always give such a charm to the landscape.The town of Bellaggio is small but rather curious. Where it borders the lake an arcade has been formed, with terraces projecting from the houses and covering the roadway. In this arcade and elsewhere a few small shops offer articles for sale, and particularly small things in olive wood, the manufacture of which is an industry of the place. The wood is more darkly marked than at Sorrento or in the south of France, sometimes to the extent of being blotchy. Photographs, principally of the lake scenes and sculptures in the neighbourhood, can be procured, but, though good, they are dear for Italy.Half-way up the hill at the foot of which Bellaggio stands, reached by a steep road, is the Villa Serbelloni. This is now a dependance of the ‘Grande Bretagne,’ and in the season is said to be always full. It is apensionfor protracted stay, not for a passing night. What the comforts of the house itself may be, whether thepensionbe good or not, I do not know; but the house is most charmingly situated, surrounded by the extensive grounds of the place, nicely laid out with long terrace walks winding up the hill, crowned on the top by the ruin of what was probably an old castle. The hill is covered with trees, affordingdelicious shade from the sun, while the roses climb about them to a height of 50 or 60 feet, and with the other flowers make it a sort of enchanted land. From the top of the hill, views are had all round and up the lake to the snowy mountains of the Splugen Pass, and down the lake, which here is forked, one prong running in the direction of Como, and the other of Lecco.It was hot sunshine all the time we were at Bellaggio, diversified by two grand thunderstorms, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, one of which flashes set fire to a tree or a church on the opposite shore. It was a dreamy life, too hot to do very much; but there was always a little excitement at the departure and arrival of the steamboats, which go up and down the lake, and to and from Lecco, several times a day; and if we had no better amusement, it was great fun to feed the fishes abounding in the lake; the water being so clear one could see their every motion, and watch the caution with which, proportioned to their age and consequent experience, they would approach the bread. When a piece was thrown in, there would be a general assembly to the spot. The young ones would at once dart at it, trying to seize it, but, being much too big for their little mouths, ineffectually. Then, after a little, larger ones would come snuffing at it without touching; by and by, perceiving no symptom of hook or line, would get bolder, and, thinking all safe, would venture to the attack. Then still larger ones would come and swim in large circles round and round it, thinking, thinking, till possibly the piece was gobbled up by younger ones before their thoughts were matured. But generally there would be quite a scramble and a splutter, twenty fishes together, after a single piece, which got less and less by successive dabs, till a big fellow made a dart and swallowed it whole. But sometimes the piece was too large for even his throat; it was speedily disgorged, and then anotherscramble took place, till it wholly disappeared among them.A charming variety in our life was to take one of the small pleasure-boats, always lying at the hotel quay for engagement, and pull about on the lake, although at noon it was fully too hot even for that. Still we had several delightful sails upon the lake. One of these was across to the Villa Carlotta. This residence contains some exquisite sculptures, particularly the ‘Cupid and Psyche’ by Canova, which, by means of photographs, and sometimes in alabaster copies, is so well known. Also ‘Innocence,’ a winged youth or maiden holding a pair of doves, by Bien Aimé; and a large frieze, with reliefs, by Thorwaldsen, which cost £15,000. The hall in which this beautiful collection of sculptures is placed does not seem worthy of it. It looks rather like a receptacle or storage room till the proper hall be ready; but one would almost wish that such gems of art could be seen in a less inaccessible place. The grounds of the villa are delightful; the vegetation is quite tropical, while the views are superb, especially looking across to Bellaggio and the lofty mountains bordering the other side of Lake Lecco, which tower like a huge wall of rock behind the Serbelloni Hill. Returning to our boat, we rowed round the coast, which contains very many luxuriant spots; one of the most lovely of these was a little summer-house by the banks of the lake, filled with graceful drooping acacias and brilliant summer flowers—one of those ‘juicy bits’ which artists so much prize.On another occasion we visited the Villa Melzi, lying upon the Bellaggio side. It contains some good sculptures, but not equal to those in the Villa Carlotta. The gardens, however, were fascinating—shady walks with sloping grass banks, lofty trees, and all by the margin of the smiling lake. One could hardly imagine a more romantic residence, but the proprietor occupies it only two months in theyear—September and October. We did long for the power of transplanting such places, with all their sunshine and clear blue sky, to our native land.The sail in the steamboat to Como takes about two hours, and is a very charming excursion. The lake winds about among the mountains, and the boat, crossing from side to side, touches every now and then at one of those picturesque Italian villages which adorn the lake and form such admirable subjects for the painter’s brush. At the south end, where the town of Como lies, the mountains dwindle down to insignificant hills, and the town is built for the most part on a large level plain, which probably has been gained from the lake by deposit. The town is one of some size, its principal ornament being the cathedral, a large and imposing church with a dome built of white marble, and finely ornamented within by sculpture. This and the adjoining Broletto, or Town Hall, built in alternate courses of black and white marble, with an open arcade below, and an old tower by its side, are, with the cathedral, the attractions of the ancient city of Como.The sail in the other direction, towards the snowy mountains, is much grander, and also takes about two hours, stopping at Colico. The sail upon Lake Lecco we did not take.It was too hot to walk to any distance, but one forenoon two of us ventured exploringly as far as St. Giovanni, a small fishing village with two churches, about a mile or more to the south of Bellaggio. Here quantities of the fish caught in the lake by means of nets were hanging up to dry and be baked in the sun. On our way we passed a monument in course of erection to some Principe, whose name I did not gather, curiously composed of a combination of red brick, granite, and marble; and not far off the ruinsof a church, whose tall square campanile, remaining standing, was an object in the landscape.In one of our walks, we found lying on the road one after another three small snakes, which had been killed and left there. They were probably about 15 inches in length and ⅝ths of an inch thick.We had a continuance of hot weather, and in those glorious days this was generally the even tenor of our way. In the early morning, too soon to rise and dress, but tempted to look out at window, we could see that the sun was illuminating the snowy peaks of the Splugen range, and casting a brilliant light on San Crucione and all the hills on that, the other side of the lake. By nine o’clock the sun had obtained power; but it was a great joy to go out after breakfast and stroll under the shade of the trees by the banks of the limpid blue water, and look across its lustrous expanse to the opposite shore, fringed with verdure, out of which rose the giant mountains circling the lake, and over all to the clear blue Italian sky, making, with the broad snowy range of peaks in the north, one of the loveliest pictures we had seen in Italy. Then, when the sun came round to the south, the air, heated as by a furnace, trembled with the sultry glow, and all blinds were drawn down, and the houses looked asleep. Everything was still, save when at given hours the steamboat paddles beat upon the water, or the bell announced arrival or departure. We would return to the hotel for shade and coolness, have lunch, read our letters or answer them, dip into the newspapers, say good-bye to those who were leaving, or sometimes be gladdened by meeting old travelling friends just come; or, failing any more important occupation, take up a book and withdraw to a sofa in the great coolsalon, to obtain a quiet read. Then in time the dressing-bell would ring, and we would shortly after assemble at dinner, and enjoy pleasant intercourse with those around. Dinner over, some of thevisitors, especially among those just arrived, would embark in pleasure-boats upon the lake; and others (ladies throwing a shawl over the shoulders, and a hat upon the head) would sit out in the garden a good while, conversing and looking upon the fair prospect and the boats gliding along, their oars gently touching and turning the silver water and leaving a ripple behind; and, by and by, the sun would retire and set behind the mountains; and though the lesser orb, being then in its infancy, could not afford us the resplendent spectacle of full moon on the lake, the stars were on thequi vive, and, stealthily sending their pale twinkling scouts to peep timidly out and reconnoitre, would all, the moment the enemy disappeared, with bold face rise, each in its appointed position, and, as they slowly and silently, but steadily, pursued the sun in his flight, hang out their far-shining lamps, radiant in green and gold, to light up the beauteous scene. The very rapture of the frogs, as they maintained, agreeably to themselves, an incessant ‘wrack-wrack,’ seemed not out of place; while the glow-worm, with greater humanity, and in greater keeping with all around, would turn upon the garden paths its glittering tail. But as it became dark, and visitors had one by one retreated to the house, it would happen that either from our shore or from the Cadenabbia shore, the hotelkeepers began to burn coloured lights, ignite fireworks, and send rockets blazing and bursting high up into the air; and, this show being over, it was time to retire to rest, and, if the heat would admit of sleep, perchance to repeat our experience of the day in visions of the night, and wake on the morrow for another such day. And so, like many others similarly placed, we dreamed away this blissful fortnight.But we were now in the middle of June, and the season seemed to be drawing to a close, and probably a month later, when the sun’s heat would be intolerable, Bellaggiomight become altogether deserted. The numbers at the hotel lessened day by day, so that for a week I was at the head of the table as the oldest inhabitant. It was warning we must move on. We must leave this land of Beulah; bid adieu for a time to the sunny soil and sky of Italy, where we had now spent nearly four months, and proceed to the cooler regions of Switzerland by the neighbouring Splugen Pass.

XV.VENICE AND VERONA.VENICE.Therain continued while we proceeded to Venice, but cleared off shortly before we arrived at our journey’s end, about five o’clock. The country for some distance from Bologna is very flat, and was then full of water, but rich and verdant. We passed the towns of Ferrara, Rovigo, and Padua. In approaching the old city Padua, the country becomes hilly. This university town arrests attention by its domes and towers, and seemed to invite a visit; but one cannot see everything in a single tour. Venice is only twenty-two miles distant from Padua, but the railway takes nearly two hours to reach it. At last we arrived at a broad lagune, separating the mainland from the island city, and crossed by a railway viaduct apparently about two miles long. From this bridge, gazing from the carriage windows, we saw lying before us at a little distance, like fairyland, Venice, as if floating on the water, a strange sight! On arriving at the station, which is real stone and lime, resting on veritable ground, and very much like railway stations elsewhere, except that no omnibuses or cabs wait arrival, the exit is to the banks of the Grand Canal. We were met outsideby thecommissionaireof the Hotel Danieli (Royal), who gave us in charge of a boatman; and leaving thecommissionaireto bring the luggage afterwards, we had our first experience—a new and curious one—of a gondola on the canals of Venice. The boatman took us a certain length along the Grand Canal, and then, as I found the post office could be reached on the way, we turned aside into a narrow canal to a place which it would have required infinite trouble to discover, secured our letters, and an early ingiving of our address, and thence went on to the hotel, which is nicely situated on the Riva degli Chiavoni,—a broad quay recently formed along the Great Canal di San Marco from the Piazzetta at the Doge’s Palace, eastward, I suppose, about 1000 yards, while a continuation of the walk westward from the Piazzetta has been made in the Royal Gardens fronting the Royal Palace. This situation is decidedly the best in Venice. It faces the south, and the views from it are open and surpass others. The hotel is within a stone-throw of the Doge’s Palace, and people can at once get out from it to the open fresh air, walk freely about, and visit many of the objects of greatest interest without stepping into a gondola, or picking their way along the numerous narrow and tortuous streets or lanes intersecting Venice, which are extremely perplexing to a stranger. Most of the other hotels are situated upon the canals,—sometimes in sunless interior parts,—with communications behind by these narrow lanes with the landward parts of the town; and they want the advantage of the quay in front, which with the shipping always affords a lively, interesting promenade.Rain fell during the evening, but next morning we sallied out to see a little of this wonderful place. It is a curious sensation to see for the first time a town like Venice, whose leading features by means of pictures have been familiar to us from childhood; but no pictures ever comeup to the reality. We stood for a little upon the pretty bridge which crosses a narrow canal, and looked up to the renowned Bridge of Sighs, which, at a considerable elevation over this small canal, connects the east side of the Doge’s Palace with the prison. The façade of the palace upon this side exhibits a combination of elegance with an appearance of massive strength, to which the lower tiers of masonry, formed of rows of tooth-shaped or square diamond-pointed bosses (they perhaps have a technical name), similar to the enrichments on Crichton Castle (Midlothian), very much contribute. Then we passed the well-known south front of the Doge’s Palace to the Piazzetta separating the Doge’s from the Royal Palace—a wide, open space, wherein stand the two red granite pillars one sees in every representation of this part of Venice; the one surmounted by the winged lion, and the other by the former patron of the Republic, San Teodoro, who was turned out by the mundane authorities and succeeded in office by San Marco, such patrons having no will of their own in the bestowal or withdrawal of their patronage. Then walking up by the west side of the Palace, we entered the large open square called the Piazza di San Marco, nearly 600 feet long, by, at the east end, 270 feet wide, narrowing to 180 feet at the west end, and presenting on each side a handsome façade in the Italian style, the lower floor being occupied with shops and cafés under arcades. The Church of St. Mark forms the east side of this Piazza. Near to it, on the south-east of the Piazza, its lofty campanile rises; while opposite the famous clock tower and clock form a portion of the north side.But the eye is first arrested by the cathedral. There is in St. Mark’s a mixture of styles, but its predominating Byzantine style of architecture, so different from what one is ordinarily accustomed to,—its façade, so beautifully ornamented by pictorial representations in mosaic, brightand vivid in their colouring; its mosque-like domes; its pierced pinnacles; its graceful lines and cresting statues; its numerous rich, and all differing, marble columns (500 outside and in),—give to the whole a magnificence of effect which fixed us to the spot, gazing in admiration from beside the noticeable and noted flagstaffs planted in front. The pause was fatal to peace. We were immediately surrounded by a small swarm of touters, quick to scent fresh blood, and eager to be employed to show the way into St. Mark’s and give imperfect or perhaps altogether unintelligible accounts of the edifice. Brushing them aside, on entering our first impression of the interior was of darkness and dirt. The place is 900 years old, and the sun was at the time under a cloud. The floor is very uneven, having sunk at many places in a series of waves, as if it had once rested on the Adriatic, and the traces of its motion had been left behind. The mosaics, which cover many thousand square feet, and are very old, are cracked, and have given way in several parts; but it was a very curious, peculiar church, and it grew upon one the longer it was looked at. On this occasion we contented ourselves with a general view of the interior, spending more than an hour in doing so, and in seeing the ‘Presbyterio,’ which was shown by the sacristan. The choir of the church is raised above the ground floor of the main body, and is railed off by a parapet or screen, adorned by eight columns and surmounted by fourteen statues and a large central crucifix. It is reached by a few steps, and there hangs in front of it, suspended from the ceiling, a massive silver lamp—a peculiar adornment. Here are the high altars with their costly ornaments, and the principal curiosities and valuables (some of them very ancient) of the church; among others, two pillars said to be from Solomon’s temple. These, with the Pala d’Oro (an elaborately-wrought gold screen), the bronze bas-reliefs, the statues, all contribute to the interest. But other people are waiting, and we are hurried through.By this time it was nearly twelve o’clock, and we went outside to see the clock strike. The clock tower is a large broad building six storeys high, topped by a short central tower forming an additional storey. On the façade, a large dial marks the hours up to twenty-four, according to old Italian time, and some other astronomical mutations. Over the dial there is a statue of the Virgin, and on the top of the tower, surmounted by a golden lion, two bronze giants with sledge-hammers strike the hours, whereupon, by means of machinery, three puppet kings, preceded by an angel, stagger out at a door on one side of the Virgin, and passing jerkily along, each in turn, as it arrives opposite her, bows to her stiffly with puppet grace, marches on, and with a twitch disappears at another door, both doors closing after all have done their duty. A crowd watched the performance, which we were in luck to see, as after Whitsunday the show does not take place for some length of time.This important event witnessed, we walked round the Piazza, which at night is a gay scene—lights blazing, a band of music performing, and the whole square filled with people. In the day-time it is comparatively quiet. Here and in an adjoining street the shops of Venice are concentrated. They are small boxes resembling very much the little shops in the Palais Royal in Paris, though not so rich in jewellery or so well stocked with merchandise. In many of them there are always for sale little models of gondolas in all kinds of material, from silver to leather and wood. In others photographs are sold, the photos of Venice being noted as remarkably good; and they are printed, I think, on rather thicker paper than elsewhere, but they are slightly dearer than those in the South of Italy. There are also shops in which the famous Venetian glass is sold. The manufacture of glass is a great trade in Venice, and one sees among them very beautiful samples of the work, embracing articles in iridescent glass;but as the manufacturers have agents in London, it is not very desirable to purchase such frail commodities to take so far home. People, however, do so, and probably they would not purchase at home; while it is certainly true that purchases made in distant places of what is peculiar to the place acquire a value which never attaches to the same things procured in one’s own country. On a subsequent day we visited one of the glass and mosaic works, which our gondoliers (for some unaccountable reason, if we put aside personal motives and small commissions which the brave gondolier must assuredly be above accepting) were always pressing we should stop at. The manufacture is interesting, but one feels under an obligation to purchase in requital for attention, and really the prices asked were forbiddingly high.In the afternoon of this our first day, we had our first real experience of going about in a gondola. The gondolas are all, by order of the authorities, to prevent expensive rivalry in colours, painted black, and they have therefore a very funereal look. One would think that, as it is merely uniformity which is desired, a brighter colour might have been chosen, and for this everybody would plead. Just fancy all our street cabs of the colour of funeral carriages! Some of the gondolas, perhaps all of them, have wooden removable covers, analogous to waggonette covers, which for wet weather may be very useful; but, generally speaking, they have, at least in warm weather, white or light-coloured linen canopies stretched on rods for protection from the sun, which was very hot during our stay. These canopies, however, interfere with the view, and as we had not the Continental dread of the sun, we used at once to desire them to be taken down. It is marvellous how one rower, who rows upon one side of the boat, manages to propel it steadily along. On one occasion, however, we had a gondolier who shook the boat from stem to stern at every step, owing to some awkwardness he had inmanaging his foot or his oar, rendering the shaking motion most unpleasant; but with this exception (and we took care to avoid this man again), sailing in the gondolas we found to be one of the most delightful ways of going about, gliding noiselessly through the water, and continually passing others similarly engaged. The dexterity with which the boatman steers is somewhat marvellous. He will, for instance, approach a rope stretched from a ship, and pass under it, the high prow clearing it by an inch. Again, on entering the narrow canals (in doing which the men always sing out a peculiar warning cry), or making a turn in one of them, these long boats were managed most adroitly. The fares for the gondolas are very moderate, being with one gondolier 1 franc (lira) for the first hour, and half a franc for every other. If two men be employed, the fare is doubled. The boatmen, however, generally seem to expect more than their fare, and even on giving more, as we always did, we never were thanked. Whenever a gondola stops at a place, and we had continual stoppages, there is an officious man waiting to hook the boat with his stick, for which he expects a soldo, value one halfpenny.On occasion of our first trip we crossed the Canal di San Marco (really an arm of the sea) to the island di San Georgio Maggiore, on which has been built the church of that name, which, with its dome and columned front, and its high, conspicuous campanile, is a boldly prominent and graceful object from the town. The main attraction inside the church is its beautiful carved wooden choir, representing the life of St. Benedict, executed by Alberto di Bruli, of Flanders. It is likewise filled with marbles, bronzes, and paintings; after examining which we ascended the campanile and had a splendid view of Venice and of all the islands. The view from it, indeed, is somewhat better than that which we subsequently had from the campanile of San Marco, which looks rather directly down upon Venice.From this island we rowed across to another long island called La Guidica, forming one side of the canal of the same name; and on this island is the church of Il Redentore, which contains some fine marbles, and in the sacristy some paintings by Bellini.But it would be almost endless to describe the various churches which in the course of our short stay we visited. Most of them are adorned by pictures by Titian or by other great masters, by monumental sculptures, and by every other species of ornamentation. I shall only mention the names of some, with a remark.The church of San Sebastian, containing the tomb of Paul Veronese, and some of the finest specimens of that artist’s works. Santa Maria della Salute, nearly opposite the Royal Palace, and at the entrance to the Grand Canal—a vast church, which with its domes forms a striking leading feature of Venice. It was erected after the plague of 1630, and the only wonder is that there is not an annual plague in Venice, the smells are so atrocious. The old church of San Stephano, with its statues, monuments, and bronzes. When we visited it, a grand funeral service was being performed; the singers led by a man with a baton,—very unlike real mourning. The church of Santa Maria dei Frari, full of monuments, paintings, and statues, but its main attractions are the magnificent marble monuments to the memory of Titian and Canova, in two very different styles of art. The church of the Scalzi, or barefooted friars, gorgeously ornamented with marbles from all parts of the world, some of the marbles being cut in curious imitation of drapery and cushions. The church of the Jesuits, decorated in a strange, florid style with black and white marble—in imitation of damask patterns, I presume, inlaid somewhat like mosaics—pillars and pilasters and other parts being all so covered, as if with cloth, in black and white damask. It is elaborate and peculiar, and looks like a freak in architecture. Thechurch of San Giovanni et Paolo, a grand old place, full of magnificent altars, fine columns, and gorgeous monuments, most of them to Doges, very many of whom are buried here. This church is therefore regarded as the Venetian Westminster Abbey. The chapel del Rosario was an adjunct to it, and when entire must have been of exquisite beauty, as is evident from the remains of the sculpture. It was, unhappily, set on fire by an incendiary in 1867, whereby many fine paintings were destroyed, including a grand one by Titian. The keeper of the chapel had photographs of the sculpture for sale; but, as usual when offered at show places, asked extravagant prices.The palaces, however, of Venice are among its main attractions. They line almost continuously the Grand Canal, and are to be found occasionally in the side canals. Formerly the abodes of the old nobility, probably few of them are now occupied by private proprietors. To appearance, the majority of them are diverted to other uses—some as government offices, others as hotels, others as museums, and, I suspect, even in some cases for purposes of trade and manufacture. For any one to attempt to describe them in few pages would be vain, and they require the aid of the pictorial art to realize them. Fortunately, good photographs of many of them can be procured. They are imposing, and not infrequently very beautiful buildings. Their design is in some cases a species of fanciful Gothic, and in others the heavier style of the Renaissance; but a character of their own pervades them, denoting them Venetian. Our architects at home occasionally reproduce them in our public buildings, with variations. No two are alike. Their variety is pleasing, and age has in many imparted a rich colouring to the stone or marble of which they are built. In nearly all the balcony is a prominent feature; and no doubt on many grand occasions their balconies were crowded by the fairest of the fair, decked in their best attire,and many bright and loving eyes have peered over balustrades gaily decorated with brilliant hangings on sumptuous pageants passing beneath, and darted captivating glances on favoured gallants taking their part in the spectacles. Long poles stuck into the canal in front of many of the palaces indicate the nobility of the families to which they now or at one time belonged. Some of the rooms in these palaces are very spacious, as, for example, those in the Palazzo Pesaro, a large edifice in the style of the Renaissance, where there was one great hall the whole depth of the house, from the front facing the canal to the back. This room was filled with pictures, some for sale; and, as usual, balconies overlooked the canal, from which we had a charming view of all the life afloat. In the Palazzo Emo-Treves we were shown the two last works of Canova—statues of Hector and Ajax. They are gigantic, and seem rather out of place in a comparatively small room. In other palaces the visitors are conducted through suites of rooms hung with paintings.So numerous are the palaces, that I see eighty-nine are mentioned in a small but useful guide-book, calledA Week in Venice,[41]the churches being about as many in number. The grand palace of all, however, is the Doge’s. This is a magnificent building both inside and out. The admission is by ticket, costing a franc each for the palace itself, with extra tickets for the Bridge of Sighs and the Museum, a small collection. The palace is a square or oblong building, with a large court-yard in the centre, and both externally and on the walls of the court is highly decorated; but there is a heaviness in the upper part of the west and south exterior façades, and a dumpiness about the windows with which these parts are pierced, which could never reconcileme to them. Even the lower part in its arcading wants relief. Thirty-four Gothic arches in a row, and all monotonously alike in size and figure, however beautiful individually, without a break loses in effect. The entrance from the Piazzetta is by a beautiful Gothic doorway closely adjoining St. Mark’s, richly sculptured. After examining and passing through it, we find ourselves at the foot of the Giant’s Staircase; but the large central square court round which the palace extends arrests the eye, and we enter it to admire the interior façades, particularly those on the east and north. The north side is short and broken, and more diversified than the others, not merely by statues and a peculiar rich ornamentation, but by the domes of St. Mark, which tower over it and claim to be a portion of the structure. But after lingering about this handsome court, and taking a look at the carved bronze wells which are placed in it, and from which water is obtained, ascent is made by the Giant’s Staircase to the first floor, where admission is gained to the portions of the building shown to the public. The arrangement of the rooms is somewhat perplexing to the visitor, requiring a plan which is not anywhere given to guide him through. But we find our way through some immense halls, all decorated by huge pictures principally representing scenes in the history of Venice—real ‘gallery pictures’ in point of extent of canvas, but highly suitable to the noble proportions of the rooms. One picture, not by any means a pleasing one, is the largest in the world, and occupies the whole breadth of an immense room—’Paradise,’ by Tintoretto, who seemed fond of enormous canvases; his chef-d’œuvre, the Crucifixion, in the Scola di S. Rocco, being also huge. The ceilings of the rooms in the palace, some of them lofty, are also, according to Italian practice, embellished with paintings and massive gilding; but labour and expense seem greatly thrown away, it is such a strain to look up to them. In one large room, just below the ceiling, in a running row, portraits areseen of all the Doges, 120 in number, commencing in the year 697 and ending 1797, a period of exactly 1100 years. One of them, however, as a traitor to Venice, is painted under veil. These portraits in all likelihood are, at least among the earlier Doges, as reliable as are those of the early kings of Scotland in the gallery of Holyrood Palace, or of those of the earlier popes in certain churches in Rome. The rooms, however, of greatest interest are those in which the Doge and his council assembled in conclave; and one cannot help, when in such rooms, endeavouring to conjure up old scenes happening there, and thinking how the glory of Venice has departed.When in the library we were asked to go into a small room off it, where we were shown some old MSS., and a fine old unique breviary, with most beautiful illuminated illustrations. It has been or is being photographed, and I presume copies will be for sale.The dungeons, which are seen by crossing the Bridge of Sighs, are, so far as shown, small, but sufficiently repellent.The Doge’s Palace abuts upon the church of St. Mark, which we rarely passed without entering. On Whitsunday (20th May 1877) a grand service was held in the church. The singing was performed by about from twelve to twenty choristers in the organ gallery, with a leader. The voices were splendid, and the music very fine. On another occasion we walked round the gallery of the church under guidance of an attendant, and examined the mosaics, of which one thus gets a nearer view. They are imposing, but unfortunately are giving way in many places. At a west window we were taken outside to see the four fine bronze horses over the portal, which form a feature in the ornamentation of the façade. The horses are, however, in size small, and apparently not sufficiently gigantic for the situation.In the Piazza di San Marco immense flocks of pigeons are always to be seen; they are kept under the protection of the city, the law being that to kill or ill-treat them is a punishable offence. Every day at two o’clock they are regularly fed with grain, and they are said to know the time so exactly as to arrive for their dinner from all quarters at the precise hour. It is certainly remarkable to see how tame they are, being quite devoid of the fear and dread of man, perching all over any stranger who will feed them, with as much confidence as if they were with Adam or Eve in the Garden of Eden.After we had seen a good deal of Venice we ascended the campanile of St. Mark. This is a wide square tower, and by a commodious sloping internal ascent the belfry is attained, where we get among the bells. The hours are struck by a man stationed to pull the ropes and watch for fires, which, when he discovers, he notifies to the proper quarter—a useful, but, I fear, a rare species of precaution against this species of calamity. The view from this tower (which is 322 feet high to the hair of the angel’s head, an altitude which I need scarcely say we did not attempt) is commanding, ranging over the city and lagunes, looking, however, as I have already said, a little too directly down upon the roofs of the houses below. However, one gets a pretty clear idea of the map of Venice, with its multifarious canals, islands, and narrow streets. As stated by Bædeker, the ‘15,000 houses and palaces of Venice (population, 128,901) are situated on 3 large and 114 small islands, formed by 147 canals, connected by 378 bridges (most of them stone), and altogether about 7 miles in circumference.’ I occasionally endeavoured to thread my way through the narrow streets of Venice, and considered it rather an achievement the first time I managed to pioneer through all the intricacies of the passage from the Piazza San Marco to the Ponte Rialto and back again. This famous bridge isa graceful marble arch, of one span of 74 feet, across the Grand Canal. An elegant marble balustrade protects each side, the space on the bridge being divided into three footways by two covered arched or arcaded buildings used as shabby little shops, which one would gladly see abolished, being so little in keeping with the handsome character of the bridge. Here at the Rialto there are also markets on either side of the canal, for the sale of fruit and other things.Situated on the Grand Canal, but nearer to the railway station, is the Museo Correr, in which we found a collection of pictures, armour, and curiosities, of no great extent, but said to be valuable. The Palazzo Marcello (proprietor, Richetti) contains a quantity of ‘antiquities,’ curiosities, bronzes, and other things manufactured for sale, some of them curiously designed.Nearer to the principal part of the town the Academia delle Belle Arti lies—a very extensive collection of paintings in twenty large halls, besides smaller rooms, the pictures numbering in all 679. These are all, with the exception of a few of the Dutch school, if I am not mistaken, the works of Italian artists, most of them by the great masters, and many on a large scale. Among others is what is considered Titian’s masterpiece—’The Assumption of the Virgin,’ a clear and brilliant, a glorious work in point of drawing and colour. In fact, the colour is perhaps rather too strong in reds and blues. One great canvas, a grand picture by Paul Veronese of the banquet in Levi’s house, occupies the entire breadth of the largest hall. The banquet is represented as held under a remarkably Venetian-looking light colonnade, open to the outer air, and peopled by characters evidently clothed in Venetian attire of the painter’s era. But it scarcely does to scan such works of art with too much regard to accessories. What appears to be thefavourite picture is another Veronese—a Virgin with a young, naked, little St. John the Baptist standing on a pedestal, with legs to appearance (it may be merely the effect of shade) of unequal lengths. There were half a dozen painters when we were there, engaged in copying the chubby St. John. Copies of it may be seen in many of the shops of Venice. They are, I fancy, favourites with the ladies. We paid only one visit to the Academy, but it would take several visits to do its galleries justice.The arsenal of Venice, dating back to the year 1104, is well worthy of a visit for the sake of its museum, an interesting collection of arms and models of ships, particularly of the grand state gondolas; nothing but the museum is apparently shown to the ordinary visitor. The arsenal is not so extensive as it once was. Admission is had by simply entering one’s name in the visitors’ book, and, as usual at all these show places where admission is not by payment, giving a small fee to thecustodes, one being stationed in each hall.A steamboat, large enough for the traffic, sailed every hour from the quay in front of our hotel to the island of Lido, about two miles distant. We crossed in it one afternoon; and the sail is interesting, as the vessel passes the other islands, and fine views are had from it of the town, and, in the distance, of the mountains of the Tyrol. The island of Lido is long and narrow. Upon landing we walked across to the other side, about half a mile of road. Here we were on the borders of the Adriatic. The island is a bright little spot with a few buildings on it. Returning, we got on board just in time to escape, under cover of its awning, a thunder-shower which came pelting down very heavily, and lasted all the time we were on board.We had now been eight days in Venice, and had beenconstantly going about seeing much that was to be seen, but yet only seeing it in a superficial way. There was no place in Italy which was more attractive. Its gorgeous palaces and churches, its strange, unique kind of life, the multitudinous canals teeming with gondolas, and the pleasure of moving about in them, was something we never could forget. We saw Venice usually in brilliant sunshine, with everything sparkling in light, although nearly every afternoon, with a severe punctuality which enabled us generally to be prepared for it, black clouds gathered, and a thunderstorm emptied them quickly. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of all was to see Venice in moonlight. One is familiar with photographs of the fair city, tinted with a deep blue in imitation of moonlight effect, a white spot being picked out for the moon herself (as, of course, the photographs are taken during the day), and I can hardly say that there is in these pictures much, if any, exaggeration. The blueness of the sky, and of everything with which the light is tinged in moonlight, is something remarkable and very lovely, while the effect is increased when the moon, getting behind a cloud, gives to the cloud a luminous edging of silver.We were exceedingly unwilling to leave this bright fairyland, but became afraid to stay longer. The fact is, that with all its attractiveness Venice has not, at least to a stranger, the feeling of healthiness. It drains into the canals, where the tide rises and falls only 2 feet, and has not force sufficient to carry off the drainage. The effluvium from the narrow canals is sometimes overpowering, and yet it is said, as it is said of so many other places one might imagine insalubrious, that Venice is naturally so healthy that the people are notedly long-lived; and, indeed, one instance of this occurs in the case of Titian, who lived to the patriarchal age of ninety-nine. How this comes, ‘let doctors tell.’We left on 23d May, pursuing our way up the Grand Canal and under the Ponte Rialto, and on to the railway station,—a long pull, but one we always enjoyed. In fact, if a visitor do nothing but obtain a sail along this canal, he sees the greater part of Venice; just as, though much less completely, a stranger sees much of London by a sail upon the Thames, and would see more were the main buildings, as at Venice, placed upon its banks; which henceforth, perhaps, there is a hope they may be. The canal is, I think, about two miles in length, and on an average not less than 100 feet wide, and is lined by palaces, churches, and houses, in the utmost irregularity of height and diversity of character and style, many of them beautiful, while the canal itself is alive with gondolas; and thetout ensembleis so picturesque, that when the sun shines, as it generally did, everything looks engaging to the eye. One by one we passed and gazed at the palaces (which had become, as it were, old friends) with many a lingering look, as if resolved we never should forget them. But the vision came to an end as we entered the modern and disenchanting railway station, whence we shortly after proceeded on our journey to Verona, the scene ofRomeo and Juliet. Romance was not, therefore, to be quite at an end, and as the train issued out of the railway station the curtain was raised for a momentary glimpse; and slowly wending our way over the lagune by the long viaduct of 222 arches, we looked intently on the floating city, wondering if ever we should see it again. Losing sight of it lying on the one side, attention was forthwith drawn to the other by the line of the Tyrolese mountains, which at some distance were in view, and flanking us nearly the whole way. We passed Padua and Vicenza, and through a country which is flat, but was smiling in the greens of early summer, and after a journey of about seventy miles in four hours reached our destination.VERONA.We had proposed spending two nights at Verona, but American friends who came with us from Venice were anxious to get on to Milan, so that we had just two hours the following morning for a drive about the town. We regretted afterwards that our opportunity was not greater, for it is indeed a place at which one may stay for a few days with advantage. It is very picturesquely situated on the river Adige, and contains a good deal that is interesting. We first drove through the old market-place, where people were busy selling fruit, vegetables, and other things in a piazza surrounded by curious old houses. Then into the Piazza dei Signori, where are some very fine buildings, old and new, and adjoining it a small open space or square closely surrounded by houses, in which the noted and highly decorated tombs of the Scaligers, enclosed within a wall and railing, are seen. Then on to the Arena, which is not so imposing as the Colosseum or even the Arena at Nismes, and although covering more ground than the latter, was seated for fewer spectators; but it is in a very perfect condition—the most perfect, I think, of any we saw in Italy, the large marble slabs of which it is built being nearly all in place. We mounted to the top row, and had an excellent view of the country round about. From this we drove to the church of San Zenone Maggiore, a thousand years old, and very curious. The portal is peculiar, and adorned by rich marble reliefs. Within are some fine old pillars, said to be of single pieces of marble, a crypt, and cloisters—altogether a place of great interest and of striking conformation. We were only sorry we had so little time to examine it minutely, for we could take but a rapid walk round. Returning to town we entered two other churches,—San Fermo Maggiore, with an open ceiling in walnut wood, and the Duomo, which is quaintly ornamented; but we had seen so many Italian churches elsewhere that we were rather attracted to a little building at the end of a garden, said to be the tomb of Juliet. One is fain to believe in it, but as matter of fact it is discredited. This tomb so-called Juliet’s is an elegant, small, open, three-arched vault, or recessed covered place with slender double columns, containing within a sarcophagus. More certainty is attached to what is shown at a different part of the town as Juliet’s window; but, alas for the romance! the window looks into the street, and it has no balcony.ill379TOMB OF JULIET,—VERONA.So rapid a survey was not doing justice to fair Verona. There was much more to be seen in the town, while the river and its bridges and surroundings, and the neighbouring country, all looked so picturesque and inviting, that I have no doubt it is a favourite halting-place for the artist, and it may well repay a visit of some days.

VENICE AND VERONA.

Therain continued while we proceeded to Venice, but cleared off shortly before we arrived at our journey’s end, about five o’clock. The country for some distance from Bologna is very flat, and was then full of water, but rich and verdant. We passed the towns of Ferrara, Rovigo, and Padua. In approaching the old city Padua, the country becomes hilly. This university town arrests attention by its domes and towers, and seemed to invite a visit; but one cannot see everything in a single tour. Venice is only twenty-two miles distant from Padua, but the railway takes nearly two hours to reach it. At last we arrived at a broad lagune, separating the mainland from the island city, and crossed by a railway viaduct apparently about two miles long. From this bridge, gazing from the carriage windows, we saw lying before us at a little distance, like fairyland, Venice, as if floating on the water, a strange sight! On arriving at the station, which is real stone and lime, resting on veritable ground, and very much like railway stations elsewhere, except that no omnibuses or cabs wait arrival, the exit is to the banks of the Grand Canal. We were met outsideby thecommissionaireof the Hotel Danieli (Royal), who gave us in charge of a boatman; and leaving thecommissionaireto bring the luggage afterwards, we had our first experience—a new and curious one—of a gondola on the canals of Venice. The boatman took us a certain length along the Grand Canal, and then, as I found the post office could be reached on the way, we turned aside into a narrow canal to a place which it would have required infinite trouble to discover, secured our letters, and an early ingiving of our address, and thence went on to the hotel, which is nicely situated on the Riva degli Chiavoni,—a broad quay recently formed along the Great Canal di San Marco from the Piazzetta at the Doge’s Palace, eastward, I suppose, about 1000 yards, while a continuation of the walk westward from the Piazzetta has been made in the Royal Gardens fronting the Royal Palace. This situation is decidedly the best in Venice. It faces the south, and the views from it are open and surpass others. The hotel is within a stone-throw of the Doge’s Palace, and people can at once get out from it to the open fresh air, walk freely about, and visit many of the objects of greatest interest without stepping into a gondola, or picking their way along the numerous narrow and tortuous streets or lanes intersecting Venice, which are extremely perplexing to a stranger. Most of the other hotels are situated upon the canals,—sometimes in sunless interior parts,—with communications behind by these narrow lanes with the landward parts of the town; and they want the advantage of the quay in front, which with the shipping always affords a lively, interesting promenade.

Rain fell during the evening, but next morning we sallied out to see a little of this wonderful place. It is a curious sensation to see for the first time a town like Venice, whose leading features by means of pictures have been familiar to us from childhood; but no pictures ever comeup to the reality. We stood for a little upon the pretty bridge which crosses a narrow canal, and looked up to the renowned Bridge of Sighs, which, at a considerable elevation over this small canal, connects the east side of the Doge’s Palace with the prison. The façade of the palace upon this side exhibits a combination of elegance with an appearance of massive strength, to which the lower tiers of masonry, formed of rows of tooth-shaped or square diamond-pointed bosses (they perhaps have a technical name), similar to the enrichments on Crichton Castle (Midlothian), very much contribute. Then we passed the well-known south front of the Doge’s Palace to the Piazzetta separating the Doge’s from the Royal Palace—a wide, open space, wherein stand the two red granite pillars one sees in every representation of this part of Venice; the one surmounted by the winged lion, and the other by the former patron of the Republic, San Teodoro, who was turned out by the mundane authorities and succeeded in office by San Marco, such patrons having no will of their own in the bestowal or withdrawal of their patronage. Then walking up by the west side of the Palace, we entered the large open square called the Piazza di San Marco, nearly 600 feet long, by, at the east end, 270 feet wide, narrowing to 180 feet at the west end, and presenting on each side a handsome façade in the Italian style, the lower floor being occupied with shops and cafés under arcades. The Church of St. Mark forms the east side of this Piazza. Near to it, on the south-east of the Piazza, its lofty campanile rises; while opposite the famous clock tower and clock form a portion of the north side.

But the eye is first arrested by the cathedral. There is in St. Mark’s a mixture of styles, but its predominating Byzantine style of architecture, so different from what one is ordinarily accustomed to,—its façade, so beautifully ornamented by pictorial representations in mosaic, brightand vivid in their colouring; its mosque-like domes; its pierced pinnacles; its graceful lines and cresting statues; its numerous rich, and all differing, marble columns (500 outside and in),—give to the whole a magnificence of effect which fixed us to the spot, gazing in admiration from beside the noticeable and noted flagstaffs planted in front. The pause was fatal to peace. We were immediately surrounded by a small swarm of touters, quick to scent fresh blood, and eager to be employed to show the way into St. Mark’s and give imperfect or perhaps altogether unintelligible accounts of the edifice. Brushing them aside, on entering our first impression of the interior was of darkness and dirt. The place is 900 years old, and the sun was at the time under a cloud. The floor is very uneven, having sunk at many places in a series of waves, as if it had once rested on the Adriatic, and the traces of its motion had been left behind. The mosaics, which cover many thousand square feet, and are very old, are cracked, and have given way in several parts; but it was a very curious, peculiar church, and it grew upon one the longer it was looked at. On this occasion we contented ourselves with a general view of the interior, spending more than an hour in doing so, and in seeing the ‘Presbyterio,’ which was shown by the sacristan. The choir of the church is raised above the ground floor of the main body, and is railed off by a parapet or screen, adorned by eight columns and surmounted by fourteen statues and a large central crucifix. It is reached by a few steps, and there hangs in front of it, suspended from the ceiling, a massive silver lamp—a peculiar adornment. Here are the high altars with their costly ornaments, and the principal curiosities and valuables (some of them very ancient) of the church; among others, two pillars said to be from Solomon’s temple. These, with the Pala d’Oro (an elaborately-wrought gold screen), the bronze bas-reliefs, the statues, all contribute to the interest. But other people are waiting, and we are hurried through.

By this time it was nearly twelve o’clock, and we went outside to see the clock strike. The clock tower is a large broad building six storeys high, topped by a short central tower forming an additional storey. On the façade, a large dial marks the hours up to twenty-four, according to old Italian time, and some other astronomical mutations. Over the dial there is a statue of the Virgin, and on the top of the tower, surmounted by a golden lion, two bronze giants with sledge-hammers strike the hours, whereupon, by means of machinery, three puppet kings, preceded by an angel, stagger out at a door on one side of the Virgin, and passing jerkily along, each in turn, as it arrives opposite her, bows to her stiffly with puppet grace, marches on, and with a twitch disappears at another door, both doors closing after all have done their duty. A crowd watched the performance, which we were in luck to see, as after Whitsunday the show does not take place for some length of time.

This important event witnessed, we walked round the Piazza, which at night is a gay scene—lights blazing, a band of music performing, and the whole square filled with people. In the day-time it is comparatively quiet. Here and in an adjoining street the shops of Venice are concentrated. They are small boxes resembling very much the little shops in the Palais Royal in Paris, though not so rich in jewellery or so well stocked with merchandise. In many of them there are always for sale little models of gondolas in all kinds of material, from silver to leather and wood. In others photographs are sold, the photos of Venice being noted as remarkably good; and they are printed, I think, on rather thicker paper than elsewhere, but they are slightly dearer than those in the South of Italy. There are also shops in which the famous Venetian glass is sold. The manufacture of glass is a great trade in Venice, and one sees among them very beautiful samples of the work, embracing articles in iridescent glass;but as the manufacturers have agents in London, it is not very desirable to purchase such frail commodities to take so far home. People, however, do so, and probably they would not purchase at home; while it is certainly true that purchases made in distant places of what is peculiar to the place acquire a value which never attaches to the same things procured in one’s own country. On a subsequent day we visited one of the glass and mosaic works, which our gondoliers (for some unaccountable reason, if we put aside personal motives and small commissions which the brave gondolier must assuredly be above accepting) were always pressing we should stop at. The manufacture is interesting, but one feels under an obligation to purchase in requital for attention, and really the prices asked were forbiddingly high.

In the afternoon of this our first day, we had our first real experience of going about in a gondola. The gondolas are all, by order of the authorities, to prevent expensive rivalry in colours, painted black, and they have therefore a very funereal look. One would think that, as it is merely uniformity which is desired, a brighter colour might have been chosen, and for this everybody would plead. Just fancy all our street cabs of the colour of funeral carriages! Some of the gondolas, perhaps all of them, have wooden removable covers, analogous to waggonette covers, which for wet weather may be very useful; but, generally speaking, they have, at least in warm weather, white or light-coloured linen canopies stretched on rods for protection from the sun, which was very hot during our stay. These canopies, however, interfere with the view, and as we had not the Continental dread of the sun, we used at once to desire them to be taken down. It is marvellous how one rower, who rows upon one side of the boat, manages to propel it steadily along. On one occasion, however, we had a gondolier who shook the boat from stem to stern at every step, owing to some awkwardness he had inmanaging his foot or his oar, rendering the shaking motion most unpleasant; but with this exception (and we took care to avoid this man again), sailing in the gondolas we found to be one of the most delightful ways of going about, gliding noiselessly through the water, and continually passing others similarly engaged. The dexterity with which the boatman steers is somewhat marvellous. He will, for instance, approach a rope stretched from a ship, and pass under it, the high prow clearing it by an inch. Again, on entering the narrow canals (in doing which the men always sing out a peculiar warning cry), or making a turn in one of them, these long boats were managed most adroitly. The fares for the gondolas are very moderate, being with one gondolier 1 franc (lira) for the first hour, and half a franc for every other. If two men be employed, the fare is doubled. The boatmen, however, generally seem to expect more than their fare, and even on giving more, as we always did, we never were thanked. Whenever a gondola stops at a place, and we had continual stoppages, there is an officious man waiting to hook the boat with his stick, for which he expects a soldo, value one halfpenny.

On occasion of our first trip we crossed the Canal di San Marco (really an arm of the sea) to the island di San Georgio Maggiore, on which has been built the church of that name, which, with its dome and columned front, and its high, conspicuous campanile, is a boldly prominent and graceful object from the town. The main attraction inside the church is its beautiful carved wooden choir, representing the life of St. Benedict, executed by Alberto di Bruli, of Flanders. It is likewise filled with marbles, bronzes, and paintings; after examining which we ascended the campanile and had a splendid view of Venice and of all the islands. The view from it, indeed, is somewhat better than that which we subsequently had from the campanile of San Marco, which looks rather directly down upon Venice.From this island we rowed across to another long island called La Guidica, forming one side of the canal of the same name; and on this island is the church of Il Redentore, which contains some fine marbles, and in the sacristy some paintings by Bellini.

But it would be almost endless to describe the various churches which in the course of our short stay we visited. Most of them are adorned by pictures by Titian or by other great masters, by monumental sculptures, and by every other species of ornamentation. I shall only mention the names of some, with a remark.

The church of San Sebastian, containing the tomb of Paul Veronese, and some of the finest specimens of that artist’s works. Santa Maria della Salute, nearly opposite the Royal Palace, and at the entrance to the Grand Canal—a vast church, which with its domes forms a striking leading feature of Venice. It was erected after the plague of 1630, and the only wonder is that there is not an annual plague in Venice, the smells are so atrocious. The old church of San Stephano, with its statues, monuments, and bronzes. When we visited it, a grand funeral service was being performed; the singers led by a man with a baton,—very unlike real mourning. The church of Santa Maria dei Frari, full of monuments, paintings, and statues, but its main attractions are the magnificent marble monuments to the memory of Titian and Canova, in two very different styles of art. The church of the Scalzi, or barefooted friars, gorgeously ornamented with marbles from all parts of the world, some of the marbles being cut in curious imitation of drapery and cushions. The church of the Jesuits, decorated in a strange, florid style with black and white marble—in imitation of damask patterns, I presume, inlaid somewhat like mosaics—pillars and pilasters and other parts being all so covered, as if with cloth, in black and white damask. It is elaborate and peculiar, and looks like a freak in architecture. Thechurch of San Giovanni et Paolo, a grand old place, full of magnificent altars, fine columns, and gorgeous monuments, most of them to Doges, very many of whom are buried here. This church is therefore regarded as the Venetian Westminster Abbey. The chapel del Rosario was an adjunct to it, and when entire must have been of exquisite beauty, as is evident from the remains of the sculpture. It was, unhappily, set on fire by an incendiary in 1867, whereby many fine paintings were destroyed, including a grand one by Titian. The keeper of the chapel had photographs of the sculpture for sale; but, as usual when offered at show places, asked extravagant prices.

The palaces, however, of Venice are among its main attractions. They line almost continuously the Grand Canal, and are to be found occasionally in the side canals. Formerly the abodes of the old nobility, probably few of them are now occupied by private proprietors. To appearance, the majority of them are diverted to other uses—some as government offices, others as hotels, others as museums, and, I suspect, even in some cases for purposes of trade and manufacture. For any one to attempt to describe them in few pages would be vain, and they require the aid of the pictorial art to realize them. Fortunately, good photographs of many of them can be procured. They are imposing, and not infrequently very beautiful buildings. Their design is in some cases a species of fanciful Gothic, and in others the heavier style of the Renaissance; but a character of their own pervades them, denoting them Venetian. Our architects at home occasionally reproduce them in our public buildings, with variations. No two are alike. Their variety is pleasing, and age has in many imparted a rich colouring to the stone or marble of which they are built. In nearly all the balcony is a prominent feature; and no doubt on many grand occasions their balconies were crowded by the fairest of the fair, decked in their best attire,and many bright and loving eyes have peered over balustrades gaily decorated with brilliant hangings on sumptuous pageants passing beneath, and darted captivating glances on favoured gallants taking their part in the spectacles. Long poles stuck into the canal in front of many of the palaces indicate the nobility of the families to which they now or at one time belonged. Some of the rooms in these palaces are very spacious, as, for example, those in the Palazzo Pesaro, a large edifice in the style of the Renaissance, where there was one great hall the whole depth of the house, from the front facing the canal to the back. This room was filled with pictures, some for sale; and, as usual, balconies overlooked the canal, from which we had a charming view of all the life afloat. In the Palazzo Emo-Treves we were shown the two last works of Canova—statues of Hector and Ajax. They are gigantic, and seem rather out of place in a comparatively small room. In other palaces the visitors are conducted through suites of rooms hung with paintings.

So numerous are the palaces, that I see eighty-nine are mentioned in a small but useful guide-book, calledA Week in Venice,[41]the churches being about as many in number. The grand palace of all, however, is the Doge’s. This is a magnificent building both inside and out. The admission is by ticket, costing a franc each for the palace itself, with extra tickets for the Bridge of Sighs and the Museum, a small collection. The palace is a square or oblong building, with a large court-yard in the centre, and both externally and on the walls of the court is highly decorated; but there is a heaviness in the upper part of the west and south exterior façades, and a dumpiness about the windows with which these parts are pierced, which could never reconcileme to them. Even the lower part in its arcading wants relief. Thirty-four Gothic arches in a row, and all monotonously alike in size and figure, however beautiful individually, without a break loses in effect. The entrance from the Piazzetta is by a beautiful Gothic doorway closely adjoining St. Mark’s, richly sculptured. After examining and passing through it, we find ourselves at the foot of the Giant’s Staircase; but the large central square court round which the palace extends arrests the eye, and we enter it to admire the interior façades, particularly those on the east and north. The north side is short and broken, and more diversified than the others, not merely by statues and a peculiar rich ornamentation, but by the domes of St. Mark, which tower over it and claim to be a portion of the structure. But after lingering about this handsome court, and taking a look at the carved bronze wells which are placed in it, and from which water is obtained, ascent is made by the Giant’s Staircase to the first floor, where admission is gained to the portions of the building shown to the public. The arrangement of the rooms is somewhat perplexing to the visitor, requiring a plan which is not anywhere given to guide him through. But we find our way through some immense halls, all decorated by huge pictures principally representing scenes in the history of Venice—real ‘gallery pictures’ in point of extent of canvas, but highly suitable to the noble proportions of the rooms. One picture, not by any means a pleasing one, is the largest in the world, and occupies the whole breadth of an immense room—’Paradise,’ by Tintoretto, who seemed fond of enormous canvases; his chef-d’œuvre, the Crucifixion, in the Scola di S. Rocco, being also huge. The ceilings of the rooms in the palace, some of them lofty, are also, according to Italian practice, embellished with paintings and massive gilding; but labour and expense seem greatly thrown away, it is such a strain to look up to them. In one large room, just below the ceiling, in a running row, portraits areseen of all the Doges, 120 in number, commencing in the year 697 and ending 1797, a period of exactly 1100 years. One of them, however, as a traitor to Venice, is painted under veil. These portraits in all likelihood are, at least among the earlier Doges, as reliable as are those of the early kings of Scotland in the gallery of Holyrood Palace, or of those of the earlier popes in certain churches in Rome. The rooms, however, of greatest interest are those in which the Doge and his council assembled in conclave; and one cannot help, when in such rooms, endeavouring to conjure up old scenes happening there, and thinking how the glory of Venice has departed.

When in the library we were asked to go into a small room off it, where we were shown some old MSS., and a fine old unique breviary, with most beautiful illuminated illustrations. It has been or is being photographed, and I presume copies will be for sale.

The dungeons, which are seen by crossing the Bridge of Sighs, are, so far as shown, small, but sufficiently repellent.

The Doge’s Palace abuts upon the church of St. Mark, which we rarely passed without entering. On Whitsunday (20th May 1877) a grand service was held in the church. The singing was performed by about from twelve to twenty choristers in the organ gallery, with a leader. The voices were splendid, and the music very fine. On another occasion we walked round the gallery of the church under guidance of an attendant, and examined the mosaics, of which one thus gets a nearer view. They are imposing, but unfortunately are giving way in many places. At a west window we were taken outside to see the four fine bronze horses over the portal, which form a feature in the ornamentation of the façade. The horses are, however, in size small, and apparently not sufficiently gigantic for the situation.

In the Piazza di San Marco immense flocks of pigeons are always to be seen; they are kept under the protection of the city, the law being that to kill or ill-treat them is a punishable offence. Every day at two o’clock they are regularly fed with grain, and they are said to know the time so exactly as to arrive for their dinner from all quarters at the precise hour. It is certainly remarkable to see how tame they are, being quite devoid of the fear and dread of man, perching all over any stranger who will feed them, with as much confidence as if they were with Adam or Eve in the Garden of Eden.

After we had seen a good deal of Venice we ascended the campanile of St. Mark. This is a wide square tower, and by a commodious sloping internal ascent the belfry is attained, where we get among the bells. The hours are struck by a man stationed to pull the ropes and watch for fires, which, when he discovers, he notifies to the proper quarter—a useful, but, I fear, a rare species of precaution against this species of calamity. The view from this tower (which is 322 feet high to the hair of the angel’s head, an altitude which I need scarcely say we did not attempt) is commanding, ranging over the city and lagunes, looking, however, as I have already said, a little too directly down upon the roofs of the houses below. However, one gets a pretty clear idea of the map of Venice, with its multifarious canals, islands, and narrow streets. As stated by Bædeker, the ‘15,000 houses and palaces of Venice (population, 128,901) are situated on 3 large and 114 small islands, formed by 147 canals, connected by 378 bridges (most of them stone), and altogether about 7 miles in circumference.’ I occasionally endeavoured to thread my way through the narrow streets of Venice, and considered it rather an achievement the first time I managed to pioneer through all the intricacies of the passage from the Piazza San Marco to the Ponte Rialto and back again. This famous bridge isa graceful marble arch, of one span of 74 feet, across the Grand Canal. An elegant marble balustrade protects each side, the space on the bridge being divided into three footways by two covered arched or arcaded buildings used as shabby little shops, which one would gladly see abolished, being so little in keeping with the handsome character of the bridge. Here at the Rialto there are also markets on either side of the canal, for the sale of fruit and other things.

Situated on the Grand Canal, but nearer to the railway station, is the Museo Correr, in which we found a collection of pictures, armour, and curiosities, of no great extent, but said to be valuable. The Palazzo Marcello (proprietor, Richetti) contains a quantity of ‘antiquities,’ curiosities, bronzes, and other things manufactured for sale, some of them curiously designed.

Nearer to the principal part of the town the Academia delle Belle Arti lies—a very extensive collection of paintings in twenty large halls, besides smaller rooms, the pictures numbering in all 679. These are all, with the exception of a few of the Dutch school, if I am not mistaken, the works of Italian artists, most of them by the great masters, and many on a large scale. Among others is what is considered Titian’s masterpiece—’The Assumption of the Virgin,’ a clear and brilliant, a glorious work in point of drawing and colour. In fact, the colour is perhaps rather too strong in reds and blues. One great canvas, a grand picture by Paul Veronese of the banquet in Levi’s house, occupies the entire breadth of the largest hall. The banquet is represented as held under a remarkably Venetian-looking light colonnade, open to the outer air, and peopled by characters evidently clothed in Venetian attire of the painter’s era. But it scarcely does to scan such works of art with too much regard to accessories. What appears to be thefavourite picture is another Veronese—a Virgin with a young, naked, little St. John the Baptist standing on a pedestal, with legs to appearance (it may be merely the effect of shade) of unequal lengths. There were half a dozen painters when we were there, engaged in copying the chubby St. John. Copies of it may be seen in many of the shops of Venice. They are, I fancy, favourites with the ladies. We paid only one visit to the Academy, but it would take several visits to do its galleries justice.

The arsenal of Venice, dating back to the year 1104, is well worthy of a visit for the sake of its museum, an interesting collection of arms and models of ships, particularly of the grand state gondolas; nothing but the museum is apparently shown to the ordinary visitor. The arsenal is not so extensive as it once was. Admission is had by simply entering one’s name in the visitors’ book, and, as usual at all these show places where admission is not by payment, giving a small fee to thecustodes, one being stationed in each hall.

A steamboat, large enough for the traffic, sailed every hour from the quay in front of our hotel to the island of Lido, about two miles distant. We crossed in it one afternoon; and the sail is interesting, as the vessel passes the other islands, and fine views are had from it of the town, and, in the distance, of the mountains of the Tyrol. The island of Lido is long and narrow. Upon landing we walked across to the other side, about half a mile of road. Here we were on the borders of the Adriatic. The island is a bright little spot with a few buildings on it. Returning, we got on board just in time to escape, under cover of its awning, a thunder-shower which came pelting down very heavily, and lasted all the time we were on board.

We had now been eight days in Venice, and had beenconstantly going about seeing much that was to be seen, but yet only seeing it in a superficial way. There was no place in Italy which was more attractive. Its gorgeous palaces and churches, its strange, unique kind of life, the multitudinous canals teeming with gondolas, and the pleasure of moving about in them, was something we never could forget. We saw Venice usually in brilliant sunshine, with everything sparkling in light, although nearly every afternoon, with a severe punctuality which enabled us generally to be prepared for it, black clouds gathered, and a thunderstorm emptied them quickly. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of all was to see Venice in moonlight. One is familiar with photographs of the fair city, tinted with a deep blue in imitation of moonlight effect, a white spot being picked out for the moon herself (as, of course, the photographs are taken during the day), and I can hardly say that there is in these pictures much, if any, exaggeration. The blueness of the sky, and of everything with which the light is tinged in moonlight, is something remarkable and very lovely, while the effect is increased when the moon, getting behind a cloud, gives to the cloud a luminous edging of silver.

We were exceedingly unwilling to leave this bright fairyland, but became afraid to stay longer. The fact is, that with all its attractiveness Venice has not, at least to a stranger, the feeling of healthiness. It drains into the canals, where the tide rises and falls only 2 feet, and has not force sufficient to carry off the drainage. The effluvium from the narrow canals is sometimes overpowering, and yet it is said, as it is said of so many other places one might imagine insalubrious, that Venice is naturally so healthy that the people are notedly long-lived; and, indeed, one instance of this occurs in the case of Titian, who lived to the patriarchal age of ninety-nine. How this comes, ‘let doctors tell.’

We left on 23d May, pursuing our way up the Grand Canal and under the Ponte Rialto, and on to the railway station,—a long pull, but one we always enjoyed. In fact, if a visitor do nothing but obtain a sail along this canal, he sees the greater part of Venice; just as, though much less completely, a stranger sees much of London by a sail upon the Thames, and would see more were the main buildings, as at Venice, placed upon its banks; which henceforth, perhaps, there is a hope they may be. The canal is, I think, about two miles in length, and on an average not less than 100 feet wide, and is lined by palaces, churches, and houses, in the utmost irregularity of height and diversity of character and style, many of them beautiful, while the canal itself is alive with gondolas; and thetout ensembleis so picturesque, that when the sun shines, as it generally did, everything looks engaging to the eye. One by one we passed and gazed at the palaces (which had become, as it were, old friends) with many a lingering look, as if resolved we never should forget them. But the vision came to an end as we entered the modern and disenchanting railway station, whence we shortly after proceeded on our journey to Verona, the scene ofRomeo and Juliet. Romance was not, therefore, to be quite at an end, and as the train issued out of the railway station the curtain was raised for a momentary glimpse; and slowly wending our way over the lagune by the long viaduct of 222 arches, we looked intently on the floating city, wondering if ever we should see it again. Losing sight of it lying on the one side, attention was forthwith drawn to the other by the line of the Tyrolese mountains, which at some distance were in view, and flanking us nearly the whole way. We passed Padua and Vicenza, and through a country which is flat, but was smiling in the greens of early summer, and after a journey of about seventy miles in four hours reached our destination.

We had proposed spending two nights at Verona, but American friends who came with us from Venice were anxious to get on to Milan, so that we had just two hours the following morning for a drive about the town. We regretted afterwards that our opportunity was not greater, for it is indeed a place at which one may stay for a few days with advantage. It is very picturesquely situated on the river Adige, and contains a good deal that is interesting. We first drove through the old market-place, where people were busy selling fruit, vegetables, and other things in a piazza surrounded by curious old houses. Then into the Piazza dei Signori, where are some very fine buildings, old and new, and adjoining it a small open space or square closely surrounded by houses, in which the noted and highly decorated tombs of the Scaligers, enclosed within a wall and railing, are seen. Then on to the Arena, which is not so imposing as the Colosseum or even the Arena at Nismes, and although covering more ground than the latter, was seated for fewer spectators; but it is in a very perfect condition—the most perfect, I think, of any we saw in Italy, the large marble slabs of which it is built being nearly all in place. We mounted to the top row, and had an excellent view of the country round about. From this we drove to the church of San Zenone Maggiore, a thousand years old, and very curious. The portal is peculiar, and adorned by rich marble reliefs. Within are some fine old pillars, said to be of single pieces of marble, a crypt, and cloisters—altogether a place of great interest and of striking conformation. We were only sorry we had so little time to examine it minutely, for we could take but a rapid walk round. Returning to town we entered two other churches,—San Fermo Maggiore, with an open ceiling in walnut wood, and the Duomo, which is quaintly ornamented; but we had seen so many Italian churches elsewhere that we were rather attracted to a little building at the end of a garden, said to be the tomb of Juliet. One is fain to believe in it, but as matter of fact it is discredited. This tomb so-called Juliet’s is an elegant, small, open, three-arched vault, or recessed covered place with slender double columns, containing within a sarcophagus. More certainty is attached to what is shown at a different part of the town as Juliet’s window; but, alas for the romance! the window looks into the street, and it has no balcony.

ill379

TOMB OF JULIET,—VERONA.

TOMB OF JULIET,—VERONA.

TOMB OF JULIET,—VERONA.

So rapid a survey was not doing justice to fair Verona. There was much more to be seen in the town, while the river and its bridges and surroundings, and the neighbouring country, all looked so picturesque and inviting, that I have no doubt it is a favourite halting-place for the artist, and it may well repay a visit of some days.

XVI.MILAN AND THE ITALIAN LAKES.MILAN.Weleft Verona at mid-day for Milan. The scenery was fine, and for some miles we had Lake Garda, the largest of the Italian lakes, in view, at one part as near as only a mile off. Here we passed over the field of the battle of Solferino, which took place on 24th June 1859. An interest naturally attaches to ground where not many years previously a great battle was fought, and so many events were being enacted terrible to the actors, but there is nothing specially to mark it out. The day had been clear when we started, but before we got to Milan the clouds began to gather, the sky became very black, and we unluckily arrived at four o’clock in a thunderstorm. However, we had not far to drive down the wide Corso to the Hôtel de Ville, which is well situated near the Cathedral, in the principal street of Milan.We were out betimes next morning to see the glorious cathedral. It is certainly a magnificent church, inside and out, built of white marble, and of great size and height, being only inferior in size or extent to St.Peter’s.[42]It was not a little refreshing to see a Gothic church of any sort, after having had so much elsewhere in other styles. It is not divided into or surrounded by chapels, so that it wants the aid which these accessories afford for decoration; and therefore, in contrast with many less pretentious churches, there is a feeling of vacancy about it, although it is devoid of the gloom of the large, empty, dark Duomo of Florence. Fault, no doubt, has been found with the windows that they do not throw down the light sufficiently from above, but the windows themselves are traceried and filled with beautiful stained glass. Upon entering by the great portal at the west, the eye is caught in the far distance by the glimmering colours of the grand east window, whose dimensions are colossal, as may be gathered from the fact that its traceried compartments comprise no fewer than 350 pictures in glass, copies, in many instances, of known paintings. Then the eye is arrested by four long rows of lofty clustered columns—upwards of 50 in number in all—each 8 feet in diameter and 90 feet high, their comparative slenderness giving an airy character to the great interior, which rises in graceful pointed arches in the nave to the height of 152 feet. These pillars are most peculiarly adorned by a sort of double capital, between which are placed in canopied niches sculptured figures or statues in white marble, evincing that herein Milan is master; but somehow they do not attain the effect of a grand capital. The roof is painted in imitation fretwork or open carving, a species of deception which, however well done, is hardly to be expected, or even tolerated, where no cost has otherwise been spared.The exterior has so light and fairy-like an appearance that one can hardly believe it to be of stone, and yet allthe parts which look so light and delicate are in reality massive and substantial marble. The mass or quantity of statues is really surprising. Niches innumerable contain them, studded at every conceivable spot over the huge building. Every one of the countless pinnacles, besides being adorned in successive courses by them, is surmounted by a statue, a mute mast-headed man, patiently and uncomplainingly remaining where he has been ordered to do duty, and so aiding to adorn the magnificent edifice. The number of marble statues inside and outside has been variously computed, but cannot be less than 4000. The central tower may be objected to as fully too small or too light for the size of the building, but it is in style in harmony with the numberless spirelets which rise like a forest around it, sometimes in clusters, and spanned by flying buttresses in lace-like decoration, which give strength and stability to a structure which, if it were not irreverent to say so, has a good deal of the look, in its white purity, of a most gigantic and beautiful bride-cake.We lingered about the cathedral on our first visit for a long time. It was grand to hear the great organ pealing through the vast chamber, although the music was not so fine as it had been at St. Mark’s on the Sunday.The following morning (for while at Milan we never missed seeing it every day) we again entered the church, and found an important service proceeding, apparently either a levée, or, more likely, a consecration of priests. An old bishop wearing a large mitre sat on his throne, and one after another young men ascended and knelt before him, when he placed his paternal hands on the head of each successively, and apparently kissed him. The string of those who thus went up for consecration seemed, like Paddy’s rope, to have had the other end cut off—we thought it would never terminate. But what struck me much was the remarkable want of intelligence in the faces of the oldpriests, particularly those who wore the grandest dresses; they had such a stupid, stolid look, reminding one very much of a ‘donnered auld Hieland porter.’ After witnessing enough of this ceremony, we ascended the stair leading to the summit, admission to which costs a small fee. The cathedral is 360 feet high, if not higher to the topmost point, for here also authorities differ; but the point I reached might not exceed 300 feet, and, if I am not mistaken, there did not seem to be open access to the public to a higher elevation. There are many breaks of the ascent by the way, where one can halt and look around and have a near view of the sculpture, which is by no means coarsely executed; the figures, however, upon the top of these long needle-shaped pinnacles convey a nervous dread of their stability, though, no doubt, securely fastened. About many of them lightning conductors are placed, without which they might only be points of attraction for the electric fluid. The roof of the building is composed of slabs of white marble in neat layers or courses overlapping each other upon a slope of moderate angle, giving a remarkably clean finish to the whole. It was glorious to think of this being a work of man. One could envy the feelings of the architect who had the honour to design and commence it, but did not live to see it completed. It was begun in 1385; the main body was finished thirty-three years later, but the central spire not till the year 1440. It may be said, therefore, that it is 450 years old, and yet it has such a freshness about it that one could readily suppose it is hardly a generation old. They are, however, always making additions to and repairing it. Standing upon the high tower, and surrounded by a forest of marble pinnacles and statues, and by rich sculpture at every point, the eye is yet attracted to the distant view from the summit, which is very magnificent. The country, which for miles from Milan is very flat but verdant, lies spread out in panorama, from Turin, 80 miles distant, to Venice, 150 miles off;but Venice, at least, is too distant to be visible, and I doubt if Turin, even by aid of a glass, can be descried. Right in front to the north, and thence west and east, within a radius of from 80 to 100 miles, the grand mountain ranges of Switzerland lie. We saw some of the snowy peaks, but unfortunately the sky was clouded, and the view of most of them was obscured. But we took note of where Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, and other old friends might have been seen on a clear day, though it would require a good telescope to distinguish the different mountain celebrities. The Italian lakes are, with the exception of Lake Garda, between 30 and 40 miles distant, but, shut in by the mountains, they are not visible, although we imagined we could make out their situation. The city of Milan lay compactly spread out all around just under us, the cathedral standing very much in the centre of all.We were fortunate in getting a tolerably clear day for this ascent. I had intended to go up again on the following Monday, but found it too cloudy to be of any use. Another rather interesting sight, however, was in progress that day within the church; for an immense number of young children—boys and girls—were all seated in long rows round a vacant space, wherein were priests with candles, and an archbishop or some other dignitary, who was going round them. The girls were all dressed in white with white veils, the boys in their best attire, many of them with white ties and some with white waistcoats. The children seemed to be from seven to fifteen years of age, and by all it was evidently regarded as a grand gala-day—something like a public school examination-day in Scotland, before breaking up for the summer holidays. They were perhaps receiving confirmation. The procession of priests stopped at each child in rotation. The old bishop performed motions with his hands over each—I suppose making the form of the cross over them, and mumbling somethinginaudibly. It must have taken a long time so to go over them all, as there were several hundreds.The people of Milan have wisely left a large vacant space or piazza in front of the cathedral, upon its west side, so that one can admire, without intervening interruption, its beauty from a sufficient distance. On the south side of the piazza, or rather of the cathedral, the Royal Palace, a plain building, is situated. The piazza itself is surrounded on three sides by new and very handsome commercial buildings, which are quite an ornament to the place; and out of it, upon the north side, there has been built, at an expense of no less than £320,000, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele—a splendid arcade, or rather street or streets of stone buildings, laid out in the shape of a cross, covered over by an iron and glass vaulted roof, upon the Crystal Palace model. The main gallery is nearly 1000 feet long, about 50 feet wide, and 94 feet high; and it is occupied in the lower floor by shops, and the upper floors apparently by warehouses or other places of business, the façades being of an elegant style adorned by sculpture. The central dome is particularly graceful, and at night is lighted up by a circle of gas jets placed round the top. These, with the other lights, produce a most brilliant effect, and it is scarcely surprising to find that in the evening the gallery is crowded by the townspeople and strangers, so that passage through it is rather difficult. This gallery—really the most perfect thing of the kind I have seen anywhere—leads out at the other end to another piazza, in the centre of which a very fine marble monument to Leonardo da Vinci has been erected. He stands surrounded by four of his pupils, all of white marble. In another part of the town is the famous picture by that artist of the Last Supper, a fresco which is almost obliterated. The charge for admission to see this celebrated work is at the exorbitant rate of 1 franc per person.There may be seen gratuitously on the streets of Milan a picture of a different kind in the elaborately made-up head-dress of the women. In a pad of hair at the back of the head a dozen or two of long pins, of more or less magnificence, are stuck, in arrangements to suit the fancy of the wearer, but most commonly in a fan shape. It is not for man to pry into the hidden mysteries of the toilet, but it seems scarcely possible for any woman to effect this elaborate tire unaided, nor is it probable that the effect is achieved by a daily effort. The amount of nightly torture by acupressure to which the Milanese women may therefore subject themselves, in obedience to a law of fashion, is not agreeable to contemplate. We can only be grateful.In order to see a little of the town, we took a carriage one afternoon and drove out in the direction of the Piazza d’Armi, a large open space about 2000 feet square, outside the inhabited part of the city. The castle or barracks occupies one side of the square. The noble Arco della Pace, begun by Napoleon in 1804 as a termination to the Simplon route, faces the castle on the west side. It is of the same character as the triumphal arches of the Tuileries at Paris, and the Piazza Cavour at Florence, and is a beautiful three-arched gateway of white marble, Corinthian columns supporting an entablature, on the top of which a hero drives six fiery horses abreast, in utmost peril to himself and them (were they living), while a man on horseback at each of the four top corners, in equal peril and in violent action, holds up a conqueror’s wreath. These figures, being in bronze, will not, it is supposed, readily commit an act of self-destruction.On the north side of the piazza there is a large, modern, oval amphitheatre of wood, and without cover, within which races are held, and capable of accommodating 30,000 spectators.From the piazza we proceeded to visit some of the churches, andinter aliathe church of San Ambrogio,founded by Saint Ambrose in the fourth century. It is entered by passing through a large arcaded court oratriumin front, dating back a thousand years. The church, associated with various events in history, is ancient evidently, and peculiar in its interesting decoration, but not to be compared with that of San Zeno in Verona. On Sundays mass is celebrated, accompanied by the old Ambrogian music, but this we did not hear. The church of San Lorenzo was not far off—also a very ancient building, said, in part at least, to have been built in the fourth century. It is octagonal in form and surmounted by a dome. A colonnade of sixteen large Corinthian columns stands close by, and is thought to have formed part of a Roman building or temple, of which the church may at first have been also a part. All the churches, at the time of our visit, were being decorated for Trinity Sunday.The picture gallery (the Pinacoteca) was unfortunately closed while we were in Milan, so that we missed seeing its frescoes and examples of the great masters. There is apparently not much more to be seen in Milan than what I have mentioned; but it contains some good streets and a public park—not of great extent—embracing within it in a zoological garden a small and not very valuable collection of animals. This park is no doubt a very nice retreat in hot weather. We spent an hour in it one afternoon, and while there witnessed a very novel method of watering the road. Attached to a water-barrel drawn on a cart, was a flexible pipe about five or six feet long and about six inches in diameter, with a bulb at the end perforated with holes. A man walked behind with a rope attached to the bulb, by which he jerked it about so as to spread the water from side to side all across the road. This man, who was endowed with a pair of five-o’clock legs, was, notwithstanding his deformity,—which seemed, indeed, to contribute to his power of dispersing the water,—somewhat of a wag, and witha wicked leer quietly contrived to bestow an amicable sprinkling on the laughing nurserymaids as he passed. The method of watering, however, was both novel and ingenious, and answered its purpose remarkably well. But there was little dust to lay in this rainy quarter; and indeed it never was, while we were in Milan, particularly hot, and perhaps it never is; while in winter-time, especially in December, it is sometimes a place of excessive cold.[43]ITALIAN LAKES.We left Milan for Baveno on Monday, 28th May, at noon. It was a slow train to Arona, where passengers embark on board the steamer on Lago Maggiore. Unfortunately, just before arrival at Arona, the rain began to fall heavily, so that we not only had to walk on board in the rain, but we did not see the lake to advantage. For although the rain shortly ceased, the clouds remained and no sunshine succeeded, and a haze hung over the lake, which then assumed very much the appearance of one of our Highland lochs in similar condition, except for the Italian character and bright colouring of the houses on the margin. On a sunny day the lake would, no doubt, wear a different aspect. Fortunately it continued fair till we got housed in the large, comfortable Hotel Belle Vue at Baveno, which, lying at the point of a jutting promontory upon the border of the lake, looks out right upon it. Soon afterwards, however, the rain again began, and it fell in torrents, to our great disappointment, and continued almost without intermission till the Friday afternoon, when it cleared up, and in the evening of that day we had a beautiful sunset, with the sun shining brightly upon theSimplon, to see which effect all the people in the hotel turned out upon a balcony commanding it. In consequence of the clouds we hardly ever could see across the lake, so much so that I could only finish on the Friday evening a sketch of it which I began on the Monday afternoon upon arrival, the mountains being invisible or under a gloomy pall nearly the whole intervening time. When we could catch the view it was very beautiful. The lake is here just sufficiently broad to form a fine picture, the bold, well-marked, conical mountains on the other or east side,—one of the peaks, I believe, rising to about 6000 feet,—the neighbouring town of Pallanza on the north, and the mountains behind it composing the background to the lake, studded by the charming Borromean Islands, lying so picturesquely near, with their curious houses and their trees; Isola Bella, with its strange gardens, being an especial feature. These islands are the great attraction to Baveno; but unfortunately we had not the opportunity of seeing them, except from the steamboat in passing, as the days were never fair sufficiently long to permit of our venturing in a boat to land upon them. If there be anything else to see in the neighbourhood of Baveno, as doubtless there was, we had little means of becoming acquainted with it, for usually upon venturing out for a walk we were speedily driven back again by warning drops. The town itself is a mere village, although the houses are capacious—bulky, barrack-looking—and the church on the slope above is large, with a high, square, ugly campanile. Luckily, the windows of our rooms, as well as of the public rooms, all looked over the lake; and there was a library of books for visitors’ use, which, in this unpropitious condition of the atmosphere, received marked attention from all; but it was the dreariest time we had spent since we left home, reminding us rather too much of Loch Lomond in its normal condition.When the Saturday morning came with bright sunshinewe were glad to avail ourselves of it, lest we might become prisoners for another week, and to be off accordingly for Lugano, which is situated on a portion of outlying Swiss territory overlapping Italy, so that one has to cross an odd nook of Switzerland to get from Maggiore to Lake Como. The trip in the steamboat is pleasant, and in crossing from Baveno to Pallanza, which is probably about three miles distant by water, we had the good fortune to see both the Simplon and Monte Rosa through a gap in the mountains—the latter raising its snowy head in the distance. Pallanza is a place which some people prefer to Baveno for stopping at in order to see Lago Maggiore. It is much more of a town, and, commanding the view of Monte Rosa, has a finer outlook, while it is not very much farther from Isola Bella and the other islands, a pull to which must be most enjoyable. From Pallanza the steamer crossed to the other side of the lake, then went up to Luino, where we disembarked, and on our leaving it proceeded to the northern extremity with thoseen routefor the St. Gothard Pass. It was a glorious sail in the bright sunshine, with Monte Rosa, the Simplon, and also, in the upper portion, St. Gothard, all appearing snow-clad in view. The porter of the hotel had asked us to allow him to telegraph for a carriage to be waiting us at Luino, and willing to oblige him we consented, but we should have been better to have chosen one for ourselves upon arrival. However, it was a lovely drive of above two hours and a half to Lugano, part of the way being by the banks of a river, which was greatly swollen by the five days’ previous rain. The Hotel du Parc at Lugano is nicely situated near the lake at the entrance to the town, and has a small garden attached to it. It was formerly a monastery, and is built as a large square house, with a courtyard in the middle. Bædeker recommends Lugano as a very pleasant place for a lengthened stay; and it may be so, but we were anxious to get on to Lake Como to rest there, and remained only three nights.Hot sunny weather succeeded the week of rain, so that we enjoyed walks by the banks of the gleaming lake, plucking the wild-flowers, which were abundant, though not of many kinds. The town of Lugano looks very well in the distance—a mile off—at the head or north end of the lake, but it is not particularly enticing in itself, and it lies too much on the level of the water, so that the road was, when we arrived, half covered, the lake having, in consequence of the continued rain, overflowed its banks. The Lake of Lugano looks bold, and in a storm would look angry, from the fact that except at the north end the mountains appear to dip almost sheer down upon it. I believe the sail from the other end to Lugano (which is what those who purchase circular tickets from Milan obtain a coupon for) is very grand, but a gentleman I subsequently met told me he had experienced a terrific storm upon it, in which the vessel was in the greatest danger, as the sailors could not see where they were being driven to, by reason of a dense fog.Upon the Monday we walked in a broiling sun, from which we could not always obtain shelter, about two miles up the road leading to the top of San Salvatore, which, 3000 feet high, is the great ascent here, and to those in good health and active, the exercise is rewarded by an extensive prospect, while a hotel offers refreshment on the summit. Choosing shady places where to rest, we spent a charming day upon this road, which everywhere commanded fine views, particularly down upon the lake and up to the snowy mountains of the St. Gothard range.In the old church adjoining the hotel there are three frescoes by Luini, a pupil of Leonardo da Vinci. The principal fresco, that of the Crucifixion, is a curious large picture, containing within it, expressively depicted and cleverly arranged, all the different scenes connected with the death of our Saviour, from His trial to His ascension. But the three crosses are lengthened to what represents 20 feet at least, in order to admit of use being made of thebackground. Many angels are ministering to our Lord, while one angel is on the cross of the repentant thief, and a devil crawling along the other cross has charge of his sinful fellow. A skull and cross-bones at the foot of the central cross indicate the place to be Golgotha. The picture is quite a study.We left Lugano for Bellaggio on the Monday morning by steamer for Porlezza, at the east end of the lake, about ten miles distant. Before reaching it we crossed the invisible line which here separates Italy from Switzerland, and the steamer was boarded by an Italian custom-house officer. Upon arrival at Porlezza our luggage underwent the formality of examination, and we the reality of detention for a considerable time until the examination was concluded. From this town to Menaggio, on Lake Como, the drive was in an omnibus, and we regretted much afterwards not having had a carriage to ourselves, as we could see little from the omnibus windows. The distance is about six or seven miles, and inclines gradually to the shoulder of a hill overlooking Lake Como; and in such a bright, sunny day as we were favoured with, the drive in an open carriage would have been delightful, especially on approaching Lake Como from the high ground, where it is seen lying magnificently below. One advantage of a private carriage is that it may be stopped at the will of the party, and the scene viewed at leisure. Coach and omnibus fares here were quite after Highland rates. At Menaggio, finding the steamboat would not arrive for an hour and a half, we took a boat (charge, 3 fr.), and were in three-quarters of an hour rowed across the lake to the Hotel Grand Bretagne, which is nicely situated away to the south end of Bellaggio, and outside the small town. It was hot, broiling sunshine, and this, our first experience of a boat upon Como, was exceedingly charming. Blinds were all down, and nobody observed our arrival, so our boatman had to shout from the quay across the garden to the hotel porter. We found very comfortable quarters in this hotel, which is a large, long building, with many bedrooms looking to the lake; for, if I am not mistaken, there were upwards of 100 bedroom windows overlooking it. The ground floor is entirely occupied by a suite of public rooms, terminating at one end in a large, airy dining-hall, and on the other in a superb, similarly large drawing-room, both with suitably lofty ceilings. Other public rooms on this floor are occupied assalles à mangerandsalons de conversation,de concert et de lecture,de billiard, etc. In one of the reading-rooms there was a small library for the use of the visitors. I do not think we had found anywhere such ample public accommodation within doors, while in front a large garden extended the whole length of the house, reaching up into grounds and a wood behind, with shady seats under the trees, where one could sit and read, or look out upon the lovely views, or watch the passing steamers and pleasure-boats, or observe the countless green lizards which at Bellaggio, as elsewhere in these warm regions, were constantly making rapid runs over the paths.ill393BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.Here we remained for about a fortnight, resting and enjoying our rest. From our windows we looked across to lofty mountains on the opposite shore, with Cadenabbia and Menaggio lying at their foot, while away to the north end of the lake a range of snowy peaks rose as if barricading exit in that direction, and forming a fine, important feature in the landscape. The Lake of Como is in fact completely hemmed in by high, steep, bare mountains, which fall with considerable abruptness down upon it, leaving but a small border of land for cultivation and habitation. The principal mountain opposite Bellaggio is San Crucione, which rises to a sharp peak, taking six or seven hours to ascend; but it is stated to command striking views of the snowy Alps, and especially of the Monte Rosa chain, ‘une arméede géants.’ The mountain itself is no doubt a study for the geologist, as it offers a most extraordinary exhibition of upheaval of strata, the face of it showing in a great waving line, commencing near the margin of the lake and sloping up the face to near the top, a huge stratum of rock, which in the distance appears to be of sandstone, but more likely is of limestone formation, uplifted probably nearly 3000 feet.The borders of Lake Como are fringed with trees, in some places a few hundred feet up, and dotted with those small, picturesque Italian villages, each with its church and campanile, which always give such a charm to the landscape.The town of Bellaggio is small but rather curious. Where it borders the lake an arcade has been formed, with terraces projecting from the houses and covering the roadway. In this arcade and elsewhere a few small shops offer articles for sale, and particularly small things in olive wood, the manufacture of which is an industry of the place. The wood is more darkly marked than at Sorrento or in the south of France, sometimes to the extent of being blotchy. Photographs, principally of the lake scenes and sculptures in the neighbourhood, can be procured, but, though good, they are dear for Italy.Half-way up the hill at the foot of which Bellaggio stands, reached by a steep road, is the Villa Serbelloni. This is now a dependance of the ‘Grande Bretagne,’ and in the season is said to be always full. It is apensionfor protracted stay, not for a passing night. What the comforts of the house itself may be, whether thepensionbe good or not, I do not know; but the house is most charmingly situated, surrounded by the extensive grounds of the place, nicely laid out with long terrace walks winding up the hill, crowned on the top by the ruin of what was probably an old castle. The hill is covered with trees, affordingdelicious shade from the sun, while the roses climb about them to a height of 50 or 60 feet, and with the other flowers make it a sort of enchanted land. From the top of the hill, views are had all round and up the lake to the snowy mountains of the Splugen Pass, and down the lake, which here is forked, one prong running in the direction of Como, and the other of Lecco.It was hot sunshine all the time we were at Bellaggio, diversified by two grand thunderstorms, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, one of which flashes set fire to a tree or a church on the opposite shore. It was a dreamy life, too hot to do very much; but there was always a little excitement at the departure and arrival of the steamboats, which go up and down the lake, and to and from Lecco, several times a day; and if we had no better amusement, it was great fun to feed the fishes abounding in the lake; the water being so clear one could see their every motion, and watch the caution with which, proportioned to their age and consequent experience, they would approach the bread. When a piece was thrown in, there would be a general assembly to the spot. The young ones would at once dart at it, trying to seize it, but, being much too big for their little mouths, ineffectually. Then, after a little, larger ones would come snuffing at it without touching; by and by, perceiving no symptom of hook or line, would get bolder, and, thinking all safe, would venture to the attack. Then still larger ones would come and swim in large circles round and round it, thinking, thinking, till possibly the piece was gobbled up by younger ones before their thoughts were matured. But generally there would be quite a scramble and a splutter, twenty fishes together, after a single piece, which got less and less by successive dabs, till a big fellow made a dart and swallowed it whole. But sometimes the piece was too large for even his throat; it was speedily disgorged, and then anotherscramble took place, till it wholly disappeared among them.A charming variety in our life was to take one of the small pleasure-boats, always lying at the hotel quay for engagement, and pull about on the lake, although at noon it was fully too hot even for that. Still we had several delightful sails upon the lake. One of these was across to the Villa Carlotta. This residence contains some exquisite sculptures, particularly the ‘Cupid and Psyche’ by Canova, which, by means of photographs, and sometimes in alabaster copies, is so well known. Also ‘Innocence,’ a winged youth or maiden holding a pair of doves, by Bien Aimé; and a large frieze, with reliefs, by Thorwaldsen, which cost £15,000. The hall in which this beautiful collection of sculptures is placed does not seem worthy of it. It looks rather like a receptacle or storage room till the proper hall be ready; but one would almost wish that such gems of art could be seen in a less inaccessible place. The grounds of the villa are delightful; the vegetation is quite tropical, while the views are superb, especially looking across to Bellaggio and the lofty mountains bordering the other side of Lake Lecco, which tower like a huge wall of rock behind the Serbelloni Hill. Returning to our boat, we rowed round the coast, which contains very many luxuriant spots; one of the most lovely of these was a little summer-house by the banks of the lake, filled with graceful drooping acacias and brilliant summer flowers—one of those ‘juicy bits’ which artists so much prize.On another occasion we visited the Villa Melzi, lying upon the Bellaggio side. It contains some good sculptures, but not equal to those in the Villa Carlotta. The gardens, however, were fascinating—shady walks with sloping grass banks, lofty trees, and all by the margin of the smiling lake. One could hardly imagine a more romantic residence, but the proprietor occupies it only two months in theyear—September and October. We did long for the power of transplanting such places, with all their sunshine and clear blue sky, to our native land.The sail in the steamboat to Como takes about two hours, and is a very charming excursion. The lake winds about among the mountains, and the boat, crossing from side to side, touches every now and then at one of those picturesque Italian villages which adorn the lake and form such admirable subjects for the painter’s brush. At the south end, where the town of Como lies, the mountains dwindle down to insignificant hills, and the town is built for the most part on a large level plain, which probably has been gained from the lake by deposit. The town is one of some size, its principal ornament being the cathedral, a large and imposing church with a dome built of white marble, and finely ornamented within by sculpture. This and the adjoining Broletto, or Town Hall, built in alternate courses of black and white marble, with an open arcade below, and an old tower by its side, are, with the cathedral, the attractions of the ancient city of Como.The sail in the other direction, towards the snowy mountains, is much grander, and also takes about two hours, stopping at Colico. The sail upon Lake Lecco we did not take.It was too hot to walk to any distance, but one forenoon two of us ventured exploringly as far as St. Giovanni, a small fishing village with two churches, about a mile or more to the south of Bellaggio. Here quantities of the fish caught in the lake by means of nets were hanging up to dry and be baked in the sun. On our way we passed a monument in course of erection to some Principe, whose name I did not gather, curiously composed of a combination of red brick, granite, and marble; and not far off the ruinsof a church, whose tall square campanile, remaining standing, was an object in the landscape.In one of our walks, we found lying on the road one after another three small snakes, which had been killed and left there. They were probably about 15 inches in length and ⅝ths of an inch thick.We had a continuance of hot weather, and in those glorious days this was generally the even tenor of our way. In the early morning, too soon to rise and dress, but tempted to look out at window, we could see that the sun was illuminating the snowy peaks of the Splugen range, and casting a brilliant light on San Crucione and all the hills on that, the other side of the lake. By nine o’clock the sun had obtained power; but it was a great joy to go out after breakfast and stroll under the shade of the trees by the banks of the limpid blue water, and look across its lustrous expanse to the opposite shore, fringed with verdure, out of which rose the giant mountains circling the lake, and over all to the clear blue Italian sky, making, with the broad snowy range of peaks in the north, one of the loveliest pictures we had seen in Italy. Then, when the sun came round to the south, the air, heated as by a furnace, trembled with the sultry glow, and all blinds were drawn down, and the houses looked asleep. Everything was still, save when at given hours the steamboat paddles beat upon the water, or the bell announced arrival or departure. We would return to the hotel for shade and coolness, have lunch, read our letters or answer them, dip into the newspapers, say good-bye to those who were leaving, or sometimes be gladdened by meeting old travelling friends just come; or, failing any more important occupation, take up a book and withdraw to a sofa in the great coolsalon, to obtain a quiet read. Then in time the dressing-bell would ring, and we would shortly after assemble at dinner, and enjoy pleasant intercourse with those around. Dinner over, some of thevisitors, especially among those just arrived, would embark in pleasure-boats upon the lake; and others (ladies throwing a shawl over the shoulders, and a hat upon the head) would sit out in the garden a good while, conversing and looking upon the fair prospect and the boats gliding along, their oars gently touching and turning the silver water and leaving a ripple behind; and, by and by, the sun would retire and set behind the mountains; and though the lesser orb, being then in its infancy, could not afford us the resplendent spectacle of full moon on the lake, the stars were on thequi vive, and, stealthily sending their pale twinkling scouts to peep timidly out and reconnoitre, would all, the moment the enemy disappeared, with bold face rise, each in its appointed position, and, as they slowly and silently, but steadily, pursued the sun in his flight, hang out their far-shining lamps, radiant in green and gold, to light up the beauteous scene. The very rapture of the frogs, as they maintained, agreeably to themselves, an incessant ‘wrack-wrack,’ seemed not out of place; while the glow-worm, with greater humanity, and in greater keeping with all around, would turn upon the garden paths its glittering tail. But as it became dark, and visitors had one by one retreated to the house, it would happen that either from our shore or from the Cadenabbia shore, the hotelkeepers began to burn coloured lights, ignite fireworks, and send rockets blazing and bursting high up into the air; and, this show being over, it was time to retire to rest, and, if the heat would admit of sleep, perchance to repeat our experience of the day in visions of the night, and wake on the morrow for another such day. And so, like many others similarly placed, we dreamed away this blissful fortnight.But we were now in the middle of June, and the season seemed to be drawing to a close, and probably a month later, when the sun’s heat would be intolerable, Bellaggiomight become altogether deserted. The numbers at the hotel lessened day by day, so that for a week I was at the head of the table as the oldest inhabitant. It was warning we must move on. We must leave this land of Beulah; bid adieu for a time to the sunny soil and sky of Italy, where we had now spent nearly four months, and proceed to the cooler regions of Switzerland by the neighbouring Splugen Pass.

MILAN AND THE ITALIAN LAKES.

Weleft Verona at mid-day for Milan. The scenery was fine, and for some miles we had Lake Garda, the largest of the Italian lakes, in view, at one part as near as only a mile off. Here we passed over the field of the battle of Solferino, which took place on 24th June 1859. An interest naturally attaches to ground where not many years previously a great battle was fought, and so many events were being enacted terrible to the actors, but there is nothing specially to mark it out. The day had been clear when we started, but before we got to Milan the clouds began to gather, the sky became very black, and we unluckily arrived at four o’clock in a thunderstorm. However, we had not far to drive down the wide Corso to the Hôtel de Ville, which is well situated near the Cathedral, in the principal street of Milan.

We were out betimes next morning to see the glorious cathedral. It is certainly a magnificent church, inside and out, built of white marble, and of great size and height, being only inferior in size or extent to St.Peter’s.[42]It was not a little refreshing to see a Gothic church of any sort, after having had so much elsewhere in other styles. It is not divided into or surrounded by chapels, so that it wants the aid which these accessories afford for decoration; and therefore, in contrast with many less pretentious churches, there is a feeling of vacancy about it, although it is devoid of the gloom of the large, empty, dark Duomo of Florence. Fault, no doubt, has been found with the windows that they do not throw down the light sufficiently from above, but the windows themselves are traceried and filled with beautiful stained glass. Upon entering by the great portal at the west, the eye is caught in the far distance by the glimmering colours of the grand east window, whose dimensions are colossal, as may be gathered from the fact that its traceried compartments comprise no fewer than 350 pictures in glass, copies, in many instances, of known paintings. Then the eye is arrested by four long rows of lofty clustered columns—upwards of 50 in number in all—each 8 feet in diameter and 90 feet high, their comparative slenderness giving an airy character to the great interior, which rises in graceful pointed arches in the nave to the height of 152 feet. These pillars are most peculiarly adorned by a sort of double capital, between which are placed in canopied niches sculptured figures or statues in white marble, evincing that herein Milan is master; but somehow they do not attain the effect of a grand capital. The roof is painted in imitation fretwork or open carving, a species of deception which, however well done, is hardly to be expected, or even tolerated, where no cost has otherwise been spared.

The exterior has so light and fairy-like an appearance that one can hardly believe it to be of stone, and yet allthe parts which look so light and delicate are in reality massive and substantial marble. The mass or quantity of statues is really surprising. Niches innumerable contain them, studded at every conceivable spot over the huge building. Every one of the countless pinnacles, besides being adorned in successive courses by them, is surmounted by a statue, a mute mast-headed man, patiently and uncomplainingly remaining where he has been ordered to do duty, and so aiding to adorn the magnificent edifice. The number of marble statues inside and outside has been variously computed, but cannot be less than 4000. The central tower may be objected to as fully too small or too light for the size of the building, but it is in style in harmony with the numberless spirelets which rise like a forest around it, sometimes in clusters, and spanned by flying buttresses in lace-like decoration, which give strength and stability to a structure which, if it were not irreverent to say so, has a good deal of the look, in its white purity, of a most gigantic and beautiful bride-cake.

We lingered about the cathedral on our first visit for a long time. It was grand to hear the great organ pealing through the vast chamber, although the music was not so fine as it had been at St. Mark’s on the Sunday.

The following morning (for while at Milan we never missed seeing it every day) we again entered the church, and found an important service proceeding, apparently either a levée, or, more likely, a consecration of priests. An old bishop wearing a large mitre sat on his throne, and one after another young men ascended and knelt before him, when he placed his paternal hands on the head of each successively, and apparently kissed him. The string of those who thus went up for consecration seemed, like Paddy’s rope, to have had the other end cut off—we thought it would never terminate. But what struck me much was the remarkable want of intelligence in the faces of the oldpriests, particularly those who wore the grandest dresses; they had such a stupid, stolid look, reminding one very much of a ‘donnered auld Hieland porter.’ After witnessing enough of this ceremony, we ascended the stair leading to the summit, admission to which costs a small fee. The cathedral is 360 feet high, if not higher to the topmost point, for here also authorities differ; but the point I reached might not exceed 300 feet, and, if I am not mistaken, there did not seem to be open access to the public to a higher elevation. There are many breaks of the ascent by the way, where one can halt and look around and have a near view of the sculpture, which is by no means coarsely executed; the figures, however, upon the top of these long needle-shaped pinnacles convey a nervous dread of their stability, though, no doubt, securely fastened. About many of them lightning conductors are placed, without which they might only be points of attraction for the electric fluid. The roof of the building is composed of slabs of white marble in neat layers or courses overlapping each other upon a slope of moderate angle, giving a remarkably clean finish to the whole. It was glorious to think of this being a work of man. One could envy the feelings of the architect who had the honour to design and commence it, but did not live to see it completed. It was begun in 1385; the main body was finished thirty-three years later, but the central spire not till the year 1440. It may be said, therefore, that it is 450 years old, and yet it has such a freshness about it that one could readily suppose it is hardly a generation old. They are, however, always making additions to and repairing it. Standing upon the high tower, and surrounded by a forest of marble pinnacles and statues, and by rich sculpture at every point, the eye is yet attracted to the distant view from the summit, which is very magnificent. The country, which for miles from Milan is very flat but verdant, lies spread out in panorama, from Turin, 80 miles distant, to Venice, 150 miles off;but Venice, at least, is too distant to be visible, and I doubt if Turin, even by aid of a glass, can be descried. Right in front to the north, and thence west and east, within a radius of from 80 to 100 miles, the grand mountain ranges of Switzerland lie. We saw some of the snowy peaks, but unfortunately the sky was clouded, and the view of most of them was obscured. But we took note of where Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, and other old friends might have been seen on a clear day, though it would require a good telescope to distinguish the different mountain celebrities. The Italian lakes are, with the exception of Lake Garda, between 30 and 40 miles distant, but, shut in by the mountains, they are not visible, although we imagined we could make out their situation. The city of Milan lay compactly spread out all around just under us, the cathedral standing very much in the centre of all.

We were fortunate in getting a tolerably clear day for this ascent. I had intended to go up again on the following Monday, but found it too cloudy to be of any use. Another rather interesting sight, however, was in progress that day within the church; for an immense number of young children—boys and girls—were all seated in long rows round a vacant space, wherein were priests with candles, and an archbishop or some other dignitary, who was going round them. The girls were all dressed in white with white veils, the boys in their best attire, many of them with white ties and some with white waistcoats. The children seemed to be from seven to fifteen years of age, and by all it was evidently regarded as a grand gala-day—something like a public school examination-day in Scotland, before breaking up for the summer holidays. They were perhaps receiving confirmation. The procession of priests stopped at each child in rotation. The old bishop performed motions with his hands over each—I suppose making the form of the cross over them, and mumbling somethinginaudibly. It must have taken a long time so to go over them all, as there were several hundreds.

The people of Milan have wisely left a large vacant space or piazza in front of the cathedral, upon its west side, so that one can admire, without intervening interruption, its beauty from a sufficient distance. On the south side of the piazza, or rather of the cathedral, the Royal Palace, a plain building, is situated. The piazza itself is surrounded on three sides by new and very handsome commercial buildings, which are quite an ornament to the place; and out of it, upon the north side, there has been built, at an expense of no less than £320,000, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele—a splendid arcade, or rather street or streets of stone buildings, laid out in the shape of a cross, covered over by an iron and glass vaulted roof, upon the Crystal Palace model. The main gallery is nearly 1000 feet long, about 50 feet wide, and 94 feet high; and it is occupied in the lower floor by shops, and the upper floors apparently by warehouses or other places of business, the façades being of an elegant style adorned by sculpture. The central dome is particularly graceful, and at night is lighted up by a circle of gas jets placed round the top. These, with the other lights, produce a most brilliant effect, and it is scarcely surprising to find that in the evening the gallery is crowded by the townspeople and strangers, so that passage through it is rather difficult. This gallery—really the most perfect thing of the kind I have seen anywhere—leads out at the other end to another piazza, in the centre of which a very fine marble monument to Leonardo da Vinci has been erected. He stands surrounded by four of his pupils, all of white marble. In another part of the town is the famous picture by that artist of the Last Supper, a fresco which is almost obliterated. The charge for admission to see this celebrated work is at the exorbitant rate of 1 franc per person.

There may be seen gratuitously on the streets of Milan a picture of a different kind in the elaborately made-up head-dress of the women. In a pad of hair at the back of the head a dozen or two of long pins, of more or less magnificence, are stuck, in arrangements to suit the fancy of the wearer, but most commonly in a fan shape. It is not for man to pry into the hidden mysteries of the toilet, but it seems scarcely possible for any woman to effect this elaborate tire unaided, nor is it probable that the effect is achieved by a daily effort. The amount of nightly torture by acupressure to which the Milanese women may therefore subject themselves, in obedience to a law of fashion, is not agreeable to contemplate. We can only be grateful.

In order to see a little of the town, we took a carriage one afternoon and drove out in the direction of the Piazza d’Armi, a large open space about 2000 feet square, outside the inhabited part of the city. The castle or barracks occupies one side of the square. The noble Arco della Pace, begun by Napoleon in 1804 as a termination to the Simplon route, faces the castle on the west side. It is of the same character as the triumphal arches of the Tuileries at Paris, and the Piazza Cavour at Florence, and is a beautiful three-arched gateway of white marble, Corinthian columns supporting an entablature, on the top of which a hero drives six fiery horses abreast, in utmost peril to himself and them (were they living), while a man on horseback at each of the four top corners, in equal peril and in violent action, holds up a conqueror’s wreath. These figures, being in bronze, will not, it is supposed, readily commit an act of self-destruction.

On the north side of the piazza there is a large, modern, oval amphitheatre of wood, and without cover, within which races are held, and capable of accommodating 30,000 spectators.

From the piazza we proceeded to visit some of the churches, andinter aliathe church of San Ambrogio,founded by Saint Ambrose in the fourth century. It is entered by passing through a large arcaded court oratriumin front, dating back a thousand years. The church, associated with various events in history, is ancient evidently, and peculiar in its interesting decoration, but not to be compared with that of San Zeno in Verona. On Sundays mass is celebrated, accompanied by the old Ambrogian music, but this we did not hear. The church of San Lorenzo was not far off—also a very ancient building, said, in part at least, to have been built in the fourth century. It is octagonal in form and surmounted by a dome. A colonnade of sixteen large Corinthian columns stands close by, and is thought to have formed part of a Roman building or temple, of which the church may at first have been also a part. All the churches, at the time of our visit, were being decorated for Trinity Sunday.

The picture gallery (the Pinacoteca) was unfortunately closed while we were in Milan, so that we missed seeing its frescoes and examples of the great masters. There is apparently not much more to be seen in Milan than what I have mentioned; but it contains some good streets and a public park—not of great extent—embracing within it in a zoological garden a small and not very valuable collection of animals. This park is no doubt a very nice retreat in hot weather. We spent an hour in it one afternoon, and while there witnessed a very novel method of watering the road. Attached to a water-barrel drawn on a cart, was a flexible pipe about five or six feet long and about six inches in diameter, with a bulb at the end perforated with holes. A man walked behind with a rope attached to the bulb, by which he jerked it about so as to spread the water from side to side all across the road. This man, who was endowed with a pair of five-o’clock legs, was, notwithstanding his deformity,—which seemed, indeed, to contribute to his power of dispersing the water,—somewhat of a wag, and witha wicked leer quietly contrived to bestow an amicable sprinkling on the laughing nurserymaids as he passed. The method of watering, however, was both novel and ingenious, and answered its purpose remarkably well. But there was little dust to lay in this rainy quarter; and indeed it never was, while we were in Milan, particularly hot, and perhaps it never is; while in winter-time, especially in December, it is sometimes a place of excessive cold.[43]

We left Milan for Baveno on Monday, 28th May, at noon. It was a slow train to Arona, where passengers embark on board the steamer on Lago Maggiore. Unfortunately, just before arrival at Arona, the rain began to fall heavily, so that we not only had to walk on board in the rain, but we did not see the lake to advantage. For although the rain shortly ceased, the clouds remained and no sunshine succeeded, and a haze hung over the lake, which then assumed very much the appearance of one of our Highland lochs in similar condition, except for the Italian character and bright colouring of the houses on the margin. On a sunny day the lake would, no doubt, wear a different aspect. Fortunately it continued fair till we got housed in the large, comfortable Hotel Belle Vue at Baveno, which, lying at the point of a jutting promontory upon the border of the lake, looks out right upon it. Soon afterwards, however, the rain again began, and it fell in torrents, to our great disappointment, and continued almost without intermission till the Friday afternoon, when it cleared up, and in the evening of that day we had a beautiful sunset, with the sun shining brightly upon theSimplon, to see which effect all the people in the hotel turned out upon a balcony commanding it. In consequence of the clouds we hardly ever could see across the lake, so much so that I could only finish on the Friday evening a sketch of it which I began on the Monday afternoon upon arrival, the mountains being invisible or under a gloomy pall nearly the whole intervening time. When we could catch the view it was very beautiful. The lake is here just sufficiently broad to form a fine picture, the bold, well-marked, conical mountains on the other or east side,—one of the peaks, I believe, rising to about 6000 feet,—the neighbouring town of Pallanza on the north, and the mountains behind it composing the background to the lake, studded by the charming Borromean Islands, lying so picturesquely near, with their curious houses and their trees; Isola Bella, with its strange gardens, being an especial feature. These islands are the great attraction to Baveno; but unfortunately we had not the opportunity of seeing them, except from the steamboat in passing, as the days were never fair sufficiently long to permit of our venturing in a boat to land upon them. If there be anything else to see in the neighbourhood of Baveno, as doubtless there was, we had little means of becoming acquainted with it, for usually upon venturing out for a walk we were speedily driven back again by warning drops. The town itself is a mere village, although the houses are capacious—bulky, barrack-looking—and the church on the slope above is large, with a high, square, ugly campanile. Luckily, the windows of our rooms, as well as of the public rooms, all looked over the lake; and there was a library of books for visitors’ use, which, in this unpropitious condition of the atmosphere, received marked attention from all; but it was the dreariest time we had spent since we left home, reminding us rather too much of Loch Lomond in its normal condition.

When the Saturday morning came with bright sunshinewe were glad to avail ourselves of it, lest we might become prisoners for another week, and to be off accordingly for Lugano, which is situated on a portion of outlying Swiss territory overlapping Italy, so that one has to cross an odd nook of Switzerland to get from Maggiore to Lake Como. The trip in the steamboat is pleasant, and in crossing from Baveno to Pallanza, which is probably about three miles distant by water, we had the good fortune to see both the Simplon and Monte Rosa through a gap in the mountains—the latter raising its snowy head in the distance. Pallanza is a place which some people prefer to Baveno for stopping at in order to see Lago Maggiore. It is much more of a town, and, commanding the view of Monte Rosa, has a finer outlook, while it is not very much farther from Isola Bella and the other islands, a pull to which must be most enjoyable. From Pallanza the steamer crossed to the other side of the lake, then went up to Luino, where we disembarked, and on our leaving it proceeded to the northern extremity with thoseen routefor the St. Gothard Pass. It was a glorious sail in the bright sunshine, with Monte Rosa, the Simplon, and also, in the upper portion, St. Gothard, all appearing snow-clad in view. The porter of the hotel had asked us to allow him to telegraph for a carriage to be waiting us at Luino, and willing to oblige him we consented, but we should have been better to have chosen one for ourselves upon arrival. However, it was a lovely drive of above two hours and a half to Lugano, part of the way being by the banks of a river, which was greatly swollen by the five days’ previous rain. The Hotel du Parc at Lugano is nicely situated near the lake at the entrance to the town, and has a small garden attached to it. It was formerly a monastery, and is built as a large square house, with a courtyard in the middle. Bædeker recommends Lugano as a very pleasant place for a lengthened stay; and it may be so, but we were anxious to get on to Lake Como to rest there, and remained only three nights.

Hot sunny weather succeeded the week of rain, so that we enjoyed walks by the banks of the gleaming lake, plucking the wild-flowers, which were abundant, though not of many kinds. The town of Lugano looks very well in the distance—a mile off—at the head or north end of the lake, but it is not particularly enticing in itself, and it lies too much on the level of the water, so that the road was, when we arrived, half covered, the lake having, in consequence of the continued rain, overflowed its banks. The Lake of Lugano looks bold, and in a storm would look angry, from the fact that except at the north end the mountains appear to dip almost sheer down upon it. I believe the sail from the other end to Lugano (which is what those who purchase circular tickets from Milan obtain a coupon for) is very grand, but a gentleman I subsequently met told me he had experienced a terrific storm upon it, in which the vessel was in the greatest danger, as the sailors could not see where they were being driven to, by reason of a dense fog.

Upon the Monday we walked in a broiling sun, from which we could not always obtain shelter, about two miles up the road leading to the top of San Salvatore, which, 3000 feet high, is the great ascent here, and to those in good health and active, the exercise is rewarded by an extensive prospect, while a hotel offers refreshment on the summit. Choosing shady places where to rest, we spent a charming day upon this road, which everywhere commanded fine views, particularly down upon the lake and up to the snowy mountains of the St. Gothard range.

In the old church adjoining the hotel there are three frescoes by Luini, a pupil of Leonardo da Vinci. The principal fresco, that of the Crucifixion, is a curious large picture, containing within it, expressively depicted and cleverly arranged, all the different scenes connected with the death of our Saviour, from His trial to His ascension. But the three crosses are lengthened to what represents 20 feet at least, in order to admit of use being made of thebackground. Many angels are ministering to our Lord, while one angel is on the cross of the repentant thief, and a devil crawling along the other cross has charge of his sinful fellow. A skull and cross-bones at the foot of the central cross indicate the place to be Golgotha. The picture is quite a study.

We left Lugano for Bellaggio on the Monday morning by steamer for Porlezza, at the east end of the lake, about ten miles distant. Before reaching it we crossed the invisible line which here separates Italy from Switzerland, and the steamer was boarded by an Italian custom-house officer. Upon arrival at Porlezza our luggage underwent the formality of examination, and we the reality of detention for a considerable time until the examination was concluded. From this town to Menaggio, on Lake Como, the drive was in an omnibus, and we regretted much afterwards not having had a carriage to ourselves, as we could see little from the omnibus windows. The distance is about six or seven miles, and inclines gradually to the shoulder of a hill overlooking Lake Como; and in such a bright, sunny day as we were favoured with, the drive in an open carriage would have been delightful, especially on approaching Lake Como from the high ground, where it is seen lying magnificently below. One advantage of a private carriage is that it may be stopped at the will of the party, and the scene viewed at leisure. Coach and omnibus fares here were quite after Highland rates. At Menaggio, finding the steamboat would not arrive for an hour and a half, we took a boat (charge, 3 fr.), and were in three-quarters of an hour rowed across the lake to the Hotel Grand Bretagne, which is nicely situated away to the south end of Bellaggio, and outside the small town. It was hot, broiling sunshine, and this, our first experience of a boat upon Como, was exceedingly charming. Blinds were all down, and nobody observed our arrival, so our boatman had to shout from the quay across the garden to the hotel porter. We found very comfortable quarters in this hotel, which is a large, long building, with many bedrooms looking to the lake; for, if I am not mistaken, there were upwards of 100 bedroom windows overlooking it. The ground floor is entirely occupied by a suite of public rooms, terminating at one end in a large, airy dining-hall, and on the other in a superb, similarly large drawing-room, both with suitably lofty ceilings. Other public rooms on this floor are occupied assalles à mangerandsalons de conversation,de concert et de lecture,de billiard, etc. In one of the reading-rooms there was a small library for the use of the visitors. I do not think we had found anywhere such ample public accommodation within doors, while in front a large garden extended the whole length of the house, reaching up into grounds and a wood behind, with shady seats under the trees, where one could sit and read, or look out upon the lovely views, or watch the passing steamers and pleasure-boats, or observe the countless green lizards which at Bellaggio, as elsewhere in these warm regions, were constantly making rapid runs over the paths.

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BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.

BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.

BELLAGGIO.—LAKE COMO.

Here we remained for about a fortnight, resting and enjoying our rest. From our windows we looked across to lofty mountains on the opposite shore, with Cadenabbia and Menaggio lying at their foot, while away to the north end of the lake a range of snowy peaks rose as if barricading exit in that direction, and forming a fine, important feature in the landscape. The Lake of Como is in fact completely hemmed in by high, steep, bare mountains, which fall with considerable abruptness down upon it, leaving but a small border of land for cultivation and habitation. The principal mountain opposite Bellaggio is San Crucione, which rises to a sharp peak, taking six or seven hours to ascend; but it is stated to command striking views of the snowy Alps, and especially of the Monte Rosa chain, ‘une arméede géants.’ The mountain itself is no doubt a study for the geologist, as it offers a most extraordinary exhibition of upheaval of strata, the face of it showing in a great waving line, commencing near the margin of the lake and sloping up the face to near the top, a huge stratum of rock, which in the distance appears to be of sandstone, but more likely is of limestone formation, uplifted probably nearly 3000 feet.

The borders of Lake Como are fringed with trees, in some places a few hundred feet up, and dotted with those small, picturesque Italian villages, each with its church and campanile, which always give such a charm to the landscape.

The town of Bellaggio is small but rather curious. Where it borders the lake an arcade has been formed, with terraces projecting from the houses and covering the roadway. In this arcade and elsewhere a few small shops offer articles for sale, and particularly small things in olive wood, the manufacture of which is an industry of the place. The wood is more darkly marked than at Sorrento or in the south of France, sometimes to the extent of being blotchy. Photographs, principally of the lake scenes and sculptures in the neighbourhood, can be procured, but, though good, they are dear for Italy.

Half-way up the hill at the foot of which Bellaggio stands, reached by a steep road, is the Villa Serbelloni. This is now a dependance of the ‘Grande Bretagne,’ and in the season is said to be always full. It is apensionfor protracted stay, not for a passing night. What the comforts of the house itself may be, whether thepensionbe good or not, I do not know; but the house is most charmingly situated, surrounded by the extensive grounds of the place, nicely laid out with long terrace walks winding up the hill, crowned on the top by the ruin of what was probably an old castle. The hill is covered with trees, affordingdelicious shade from the sun, while the roses climb about them to a height of 50 or 60 feet, and with the other flowers make it a sort of enchanted land. From the top of the hill, views are had all round and up the lake to the snowy mountains of the Splugen Pass, and down the lake, which here is forked, one prong running in the direction of Como, and the other of Lecco.

It was hot sunshine all the time we were at Bellaggio, diversified by two grand thunderstorms, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, one of which flashes set fire to a tree or a church on the opposite shore. It was a dreamy life, too hot to do very much; but there was always a little excitement at the departure and arrival of the steamboats, which go up and down the lake, and to and from Lecco, several times a day; and if we had no better amusement, it was great fun to feed the fishes abounding in the lake; the water being so clear one could see their every motion, and watch the caution with which, proportioned to their age and consequent experience, they would approach the bread. When a piece was thrown in, there would be a general assembly to the spot. The young ones would at once dart at it, trying to seize it, but, being much too big for their little mouths, ineffectually. Then, after a little, larger ones would come snuffing at it without touching; by and by, perceiving no symptom of hook or line, would get bolder, and, thinking all safe, would venture to the attack. Then still larger ones would come and swim in large circles round and round it, thinking, thinking, till possibly the piece was gobbled up by younger ones before their thoughts were matured. But generally there would be quite a scramble and a splutter, twenty fishes together, after a single piece, which got less and less by successive dabs, till a big fellow made a dart and swallowed it whole. But sometimes the piece was too large for even his throat; it was speedily disgorged, and then anotherscramble took place, till it wholly disappeared among them.

A charming variety in our life was to take one of the small pleasure-boats, always lying at the hotel quay for engagement, and pull about on the lake, although at noon it was fully too hot even for that. Still we had several delightful sails upon the lake. One of these was across to the Villa Carlotta. This residence contains some exquisite sculptures, particularly the ‘Cupid and Psyche’ by Canova, which, by means of photographs, and sometimes in alabaster copies, is so well known. Also ‘Innocence,’ a winged youth or maiden holding a pair of doves, by Bien Aimé; and a large frieze, with reliefs, by Thorwaldsen, which cost £15,000. The hall in which this beautiful collection of sculptures is placed does not seem worthy of it. It looks rather like a receptacle or storage room till the proper hall be ready; but one would almost wish that such gems of art could be seen in a less inaccessible place. The grounds of the villa are delightful; the vegetation is quite tropical, while the views are superb, especially looking across to Bellaggio and the lofty mountains bordering the other side of Lake Lecco, which tower like a huge wall of rock behind the Serbelloni Hill. Returning to our boat, we rowed round the coast, which contains very many luxuriant spots; one of the most lovely of these was a little summer-house by the banks of the lake, filled with graceful drooping acacias and brilliant summer flowers—one of those ‘juicy bits’ which artists so much prize.

On another occasion we visited the Villa Melzi, lying upon the Bellaggio side. It contains some good sculptures, but not equal to those in the Villa Carlotta. The gardens, however, were fascinating—shady walks with sloping grass banks, lofty trees, and all by the margin of the smiling lake. One could hardly imagine a more romantic residence, but the proprietor occupies it only two months in theyear—September and October. We did long for the power of transplanting such places, with all their sunshine and clear blue sky, to our native land.

The sail in the steamboat to Como takes about two hours, and is a very charming excursion. The lake winds about among the mountains, and the boat, crossing from side to side, touches every now and then at one of those picturesque Italian villages which adorn the lake and form such admirable subjects for the painter’s brush. At the south end, where the town of Como lies, the mountains dwindle down to insignificant hills, and the town is built for the most part on a large level plain, which probably has been gained from the lake by deposit. The town is one of some size, its principal ornament being the cathedral, a large and imposing church with a dome built of white marble, and finely ornamented within by sculpture. This and the adjoining Broletto, or Town Hall, built in alternate courses of black and white marble, with an open arcade below, and an old tower by its side, are, with the cathedral, the attractions of the ancient city of Como.

The sail in the other direction, towards the snowy mountains, is much grander, and also takes about two hours, stopping at Colico. The sail upon Lake Lecco we did not take.

It was too hot to walk to any distance, but one forenoon two of us ventured exploringly as far as St. Giovanni, a small fishing village with two churches, about a mile or more to the south of Bellaggio. Here quantities of the fish caught in the lake by means of nets were hanging up to dry and be baked in the sun. On our way we passed a monument in course of erection to some Principe, whose name I did not gather, curiously composed of a combination of red brick, granite, and marble; and not far off the ruinsof a church, whose tall square campanile, remaining standing, was an object in the landscape.

In one of our walks, we found lying on the road one after another three small snakes, which had been killed and left there. They were probably about 15 inches in length and ⅝ths of an inch thick.

We had a continuance of hot weather, and in those glorious days this was generally the even tenor of our way. In the early morning, too soon to rise and dress, but tempted to look out at window, we could see that the sun was illuminating the snowy peaks of the Splugen range, and casting a brilliant light on San Crucione and all the hills on that, the other side of the lake. By nine o’clock the sun had obtained power; but it was a great joy to go out after breakfast and stroll under the shade of the trees by the banks of the limpid blue water, and look across its lustrous expanse to the opposite shore, fringed with verdure, out of which rose the giant mountains circling the lake, and over all to the clear blue Italian sky, making, with the broad snowy range of peaks in the north, one of the loveliest pictures we had seen in Italy. Then, when the sun came round to the south, the air, heated as by a furnace, trembled with the sultry glow, and all blinds were drawn down, and the houses looked asleep. Everything was still, save when at given hours the steamboat paddles beat upon the water, or the bell announced arrival or departure. We would return to the hotel for shade and coolness, have lunch, read our letters or answer them, dip into the newspapers, say good-bye to those who were leaving, or sometimes be gladdened by meeting old travelling friends just come; or, failing any more important occupation, take up a book and withdraw to a sofa in the great coolsalon, to obtain a quiet read. Then in time the dressing-bell would ring, and we would shortly after assemble at dinner, and enjoy pleasant intercourse with those around. Dinner over, some of thevisitors, especially among those just arrived, would embark in pleasure-boats upon the lake; and others (ladies throwing a shawl over the shoulders, and a hat upon the head) would sit out in the garden a good while, conversing and looking upon the fair prospect and the boats gliding along, their oars gently touching and turning the silver water and leaving a ripple behind; and, by and by, the sun would retire and set behind the mountains; and though the lesser orb, being then in its infancy, could not afford us the resplendent spectacle of full moon on the lake, the stars were on thequi vive, and, stealthily sending their pale twinkling scouts to peep timidly out and reconnoitre, would all, the moment the enemy disappeared, with bold face rise, each in its appointed position, and, as they slowly and silently, but steadily, pursued the sun in his flight, hang out their far-shining lamps, radiant in green and gold, to light up the beauteous scene. The very rapture of the frogs, as they maintained, agreeably to themselves, an incessant ‘wrack-wrack,’ seemed not out of place; while the glow-worm, with greater humanity, and in greater keeping with all around, would turn upon the garden paths its glittering tail. But as it became dark, and visitors had one by one retreated to the house, it would happen that either from our shore or from the Cadenabbia shore, the hotelkeepers began to burn coloured lights, ignite fireworks, and send rockets blazing and bursting high up into the air; and, this show being over, it was time to retire to rest, and, if the heat would admit of sleep, perchance to repeat our experience of the day in visions of the night, and wake on the morrow for another such day. And so, like many others similarly placed, we dreamed away this blissful fortnight.

But we were now in the middle of June, and the season seemed to be drawing to a close, and probably a month later, when the sun’s heat would be intolerable, Bellaggiomight become altogether deserted. The numbers at the hotel lessened day by day, so that for a week I was at the head of the table as the oldest inhabitant. It was warning we must move on. We must leave this land of Beulah; bid adieu for a time to the sunny soil and sky of Italy, where we had now spent nearly four months, and proceed to the cooler regions of Switzerland by the neighbouring Splugen Pass.

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