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S- ^ ^ o ,^M^ ** <* 'bV ^ ^ ** •- * ^ '^o 1 **« ^ o » a © N ° A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK BY FRANCES NOTLEW og >>s ; -3 . \N r ^So5-CX ^ - i New York E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 713 Broadway 1882 Copyright, 1882, By E. P. DUTTON & CO. n THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS WASHIN GTON #1 Press of J. J. Little & Co., jo Astor Place, N. Y. St. yohnland Stereotype Foundry, Suffolk Co., N. Y. TO N. J. W. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE I II. THE RHINE 12 III. HEIDELBERG 2 2 IV. BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG 33 V. FROM GENEVA TO GENOA 42 VI. FROM GENOA TO ROME 52 VII. THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM 65 VIII. THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER'S 'J J IX. BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. ST. PETER'S IN MONTORIO 89 X. ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETER'S IO3 XI. FROM ROME TO PALERMO I 1 3 XII. PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL . . . 1 26 XIII. PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MON- REALE I39 XIV. MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE 1 53 XV. THE MARINA. GARIBALDl's OCCUPATION OF THE CITY l66 XVI. POMPEII TO SORRENTO 1 77 XVII. SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO . . . . 1 88 XVIII. CAPRI AND NAPLES I99 XIX. IN AND ABOUT NAPLES 2IO XX. ROMAN CARNIVAL, TRAJAN'S FORUM, AND THE AVENTINE 222 VI CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XXI. APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS . 235 XXII. BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES, VIA SALARIA AND THE VATICAN 248 XXIII. VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAM A, RAPHAEL AND SAN OXOFRIO 262 XXIV. THE COLONNA, ROSPIGLIOSE, AND STA. MARIA MAG- GIORE 278 XXV. TIVOLI 288 XXVI. FROM ROME TO FLORENCE 294 XXVII. PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE . . . 308 XXVIII. THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER, SAN MARCO AND SAN LORENZO 32O XXIX. FLORENCE TO VENICE 334 XXX. ST. MARK'S, THE DUCAL PALACE, AND TORCELLO . 348 XXXI. THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES, AND THE LIDO 363 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. »*oo<» I. FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. Our voyage across the sea had the usual accom- paniments of the picturesque and the commonplace; the pathetic and the dramatic, the miseries of being forced to stay " below," and the calm delights of the afterward, when one lies on deck with his face toward heaven and is content. We were blessed with the most delightful weather imaginable during the whole three thousand and odd miles of ocean travel, and without accident, or even threat of impending peril, were landed at Bremenhaven. For one, I was glad to put my foot once more upon the firm earth; I could have fallen prostrate and kissed the brilliant green — the smiling -shore that welcomed us. A few miles by railway brought us to the city of Bremen. Coming from the "new world," ho>« strange to us were the oldness, the completeness, the general utilization of all possibilities; no neg- 2 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. lected lands, no wild, tangled undergrowth, no fences nor other enclosures, only miles upon miles of the most luxuriant cultivation, — meadows, groves and gardens. In the city there was less strangeness: we felt the influence of an energetic activity, which, as with us, was visible in the faces and manners of the people. The Public Promenades that skirt the alt-city side of the Weser are delightful; strolling through them we had glimpses of vine-trellised cot- tages and stately residences on the opposite bank, and of the loveliest pictures of wood and water. The streets of Bremen seemed marvellously clean, notwithstanding the common impression that Ger- man proclivities do not tend to such results. The private houses, however old they may be, have a newish look, which is toned by dark leaved climb- ers, and brightened with flowers. Flowers! they are everywhere — in the yards, the balconies, the win- dows, in little patches by the wayside — wherever there is the smallest space or chance for them. The shops are much like our own, perhaps a little soberer of aspect, but it would be pleasant if we could find at home a little more of the courtesy and friendli- ness of manner that we met with among the Bremen shopkeepers. We bought a few kreuzer's worth of sundries, and were rewarded by such an "I thank FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. you very much," aud u Good day," that we opened our eyes wide, and wondered what it all meant. The journey to Cologne occupied the whole of the following day and part of the night; for Schnellzug does not mean in Germany what " Lightning Ex- press " does, between New York and Boston. There was full compensation, however, for the slowness, in the comfort of the deep-cushioned, broad-win- dowed carriages, and the better view of the coun- try, which as we proceeded unrolled its beautiful panorama — valley plains, bright with the sparkle and gleam of crystal streams, and summer promises of bountiful harvest gatherings ; wooded slopes, shad- owy and dark, and tempting in suggestions of cozy nooks and cool retreats; occasionally a distant sum- mit, out of whose green -gray a real castle rose against the delicate blue of the sky; pleasant villa- ges, with variegated colors and church spires pointed with light; and last, but not altogether least, the handsome railway stations. These belong to the Government; consequently, the buildings are costly; the windows are gay with flowers; there are beau- tiful gardens and fine old trees; and the officials wear navy blue and gold bands, as well as a quiet, attentive courtesy. The windows of our hotel look out upon the Heu- marht. Early this morning while we were yet on 4: A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the dream-land side of waking, the music of bells suddenly filled the air, then came a tapping as of light hammers, and again merry peals rang out, followed by the statelier, grander notes of a Ho- sanna. Looking into the square, there was the so- lution of the matter. From strong, heavy frame- works, were suspended bells of various sizes, to undergo the important process of " testing." They were struck with immense hammers — not light ones, as had seemed to us, — still only the slightest touch is required to reveal any fault. When the bells had been pronounced true, the enthusiasm of the gath- ered crowd broke out ; handkerchiefs and hats waved, and cheers made the air jubilant. I felt my once rapturous delight in bells revive, when the notes of a grand reveille burst forth, brilliant as the sudden glories of a sunrise, the splendor and intent of which — the awakening of the whole earth — they herald and interpret. This set of chimes is for a cathedral; and henceforth, it will have an individual life, will sound alarms, ring merry marriage peals, and an- nounce glad Easter morns; will, perchance, ring out old generations and ring in new, till in the future of the centuries it shall become a set of "Ancient Bells." There is much in Cologne to interest the traveller. The museum contains extensive collections of coins, gems, specimens of nearly all forms of mediaeval art, FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. also paintings of the different schools of the Rhine Provinces; and there are churches and other build- ings, many of which date from the Roman period, and mark important epochs in history. Ancient sites and lines are clearly defined and well pre- served, and are shown with pride, as evidences of the Imperial origin of the city. The remains of the town wall are most interesting and wonderful. Evi- dently it was of immense strength; it had broad, deep fosses, and handsome, massive gates — one of the gateways, with its towers, is still nearly entire. On the entablature of the portico of the Rathhaus, there is a Latin inscription which expresses the grat- itude of the city of Cologne to Julius Csesar, Augus- tus, Agrippa, and Constantine. This inscription led our thoughts backward to Imperial days, made us realize the once actual presence of Cgesar and Con- stantine in this part of the great Empire, and re- newed our interest in Roman history and antiquities. Within the Rathhaus we were shown the great au- dience and banqueting hall of the Roman kings, or their representatives, and the very throne from which they issued their royal mandates. We were also shown some remains of ancient prisons, with deep underground cells, full of centuries of gloom and shadows of horror. In the churches one might very naturally fall into O A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the error of supposing that relic-worship had its ori- gin in Cologne, so great is the number of bones of saints and martyrs collected and carefully preserved in them. In Saint Ursula, they are even built into the walls and pavements — those for which there was not room in the cases which are arranged around the sides of the church. According to the legend, Saint Ursula was an English princess, who, return- ing from a pilgrimage to Rome, suffered martyrdom, together with her eleven thousand virgin attendants, on the very spot which the church now occu- pies; the necessity of using every available place is evident, for none of the bones could be allowed to go astray. Her lover must have also made the pil- grimage with her, for his skull lies beside hers upon the altar of the Saint's chapel. Some learned doctor has ventured to throw suspicion upon the number of virgin attendants, by discovering and making known that many of the bones never belonged to human, but to animal life. Another, and to us much more interesting, church, is that of St. Jerome, consecrated to the memory of the martyrs of the Theban legion, who perished dur- ing the reign of Diocletian; their leaders, Gregory and Jerome, became, and still are, the patron saints of Cologne. The church was founded in the seventh century; no part of the ancient structure remains FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. except the nave; but the imagination loves to link itself to the traditional and old, and always carries us back to the foundation of a building; in tJiat, we find its original spirit and purpose, and from it, trace the interwoven thought and feeling of its dif- ferent epochs, down to its present. But the crowning interest, the one to which every other yields, and the glory and marvel of which are inexhaustible, is the great Cathedral. Entering it by the tower front, through the vestibule, we had at the first glance, an unobstructed view of the whole vast interior. Jhe overpowering sense of the immensity of size and the immensity of space, com- ing so suddenly upon us, for a time nearly para- lyzed our. receptivities, and shut out all other im- pressions. When we could look up at the massively clustered columns, the grand harmonious forms of the decorations, and further — far up — to the sombre rich- ness and vaulted mysteries of the roof, all toned by the subdued light which streamed in through the stained-glass windows, we felt the astonishing awe- inspiring, up-lifting influence of the place, the sol- emnizing and sublime grandeur, which is the dis- tinctive and prevailing characteristic of the Gothic; and which, if anything in a material structure can, raises the soul heavenward, and leads to the con- templation and worship of Him who is above all. 8 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. To us, a white-robed throng sweeping through the fathomless heights, or the sound of golden harps tuned to heavenly strains, would have caused scarce- ly an added rapture. It is not en regie to admire the new stained-glass windows manufactured at Munich; but to me, wholly untaught in the art, they were revelations of the wonders of color; and certainly they unfold the sacred story faithfully and effectively, in the loveli- est outlines, from the Infant Saviour to the Kisen Lord. "The worship of the Magi" is perhaps the finest. The subject allows great breadth of compo- sition, and a striking variety and combination of color. The crimsons and purples are especially bril- liant, but are softened and toned by the neutrals of the background, while they are in no wise impover- ished by them ; and surely the Mary and the angels are as pure and beautiful creations as mortal thought can conceive. Others of our party admired the win- dows of 1508 to the entire disparagement of the new. The old ones have, it is true, that rich, mellow blend- ableness of tint which only time can give; particu- larly those in the choir, representing the Kings of Israel. In all the old windows the pieces of glass are so small that the lines and colors are constantly interrupted, and this, to me, mars the beauty of their general effect. FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 9 In the chapel of the Three Kings repose what re- mains of the bones of the Magi, after having wan- dered from Constantinople to Milan, and from Milan to Cologne. They are covered with ornaments of gold and so-called jewels, and are kept in richly dec- orated silver caskets. The names of the Wise Men — Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, — written in pre- cious stones, and surrounded by a diadem, are sus- pended over the altar of the shrine. These bones have been a gold-mine for the Cathedral, but the income from them is not so great as formerly. A priest with shaven crown, sandaled feet, and a large crucifix hanging from his girdle, acted as our guide. He discoursed long and with seeming in- terest, in regard to the authenticity of the relics, and the value of the treasures of the Cathedral. When he had finished, I wanted to ask him how much he believed of it all — if really he had ever heard of the French occupancy, and the substitution of glass imitations for many of the gems; also that some of the relics he had spoken of, disappeared at the same time. The proportions of the Cathedral are so harmoni- ous, and the space so unbroken, that seen from below and as a whole, we get no idea of actual measure- ments; this is obtained only when we ascend to the inner gallery of the choir, and look down to the 10 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. pavement, or across to the arches of the aisles Looking down upon a level, or across to a given point, the eye is arrested suddenly, and an idea of measurements, and a comparison of distances, are at once suggested. We knew that the building was begun in the thir- teenth century ; but we were not aware that so much of the work was of recent date. The central tower is of iron, its ascent through the narrow, tortuous pas- sages of the south front is difficult and toilsome, but once accomplished, the reward is magnificent. I have no idea of the actual height, but know that, as we ap- proached the Cathedral from below, the pinnacles of the south portal were almost invisibly above us, and that from the outer gallery, they were quite as invisi- bly below. The view from the tower is a picture, which once seen, remains in one's memory for a life- time. Beneath, lies the city with its billowy-like sea of houses, and its ebb and flow tide of human life; near, on the opposite bank, is Deutz, with gray glit- tering spires and a summer beauty of riverside ter- races and dark tinted foliage; into the distant per- spective, the Ehine stretches its lovely gleaming and graceful sinuosities, and the plain its luxuriant green and dancing sunshine and shadows ; while the far-off Siebengebirge, with their singularly beautiful forms of rocky peaks and wooded cones, vary the long un- FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 11 dulating lines of the horizon. We lingered till the sun had reached the western sky, and crowned with his royal splendors the mountain heights. Like one of old, we veiled our eyes before the shining glory, and would fain have taken off our shoes, lest the place where we stood were holy! The architectural lines and forms of the exterior of the Cathedral are most noble and imposing. The representative figures which adorn the portals are numerous, and many are of great beauty. Each seems to have its own language, its own definite revelation, and, in its' place, to fill out its chapter in the great history of Christianity. How useless to attempt to describe the details of such a structure; since they cannot produce the effect of the actual combinations — the wrought-out thought of those who plan and build. These are the building's own — the soul of it, and not transferable. Standing in the Domplatz, I lifted my eyes to the piled-up wonder — the grand anthem in stone! and was it a material, or a something loftier, sublimer, a spiritual * grandeur that pervaded and seemed to transfigure it ! II. THE RHINE. There are few tourists who do not know the Rhine ; and fewer who are not familiar with the musical lyrics and ballads that tell its legends and celebrate its charms. Who has not heard the strange, sweet singing of Heine's "Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten, Dass ich so traurig bin; Em Marchen aus alten Zeiten, Das kommt mir nicht aus den Sinn;" or Von Eichendorff's "Kiihle auf dem schbnen Eheine Fuhren wir vereinte Brlider, Tranken von dem gold'nen Weine, Singend gute deutsche Lieder " ? From the tower of the Cathedral of Cologne, I had beheld its lovely gleaming through the sunset's va- pory purple ; and in the visions of a wakeful night, THE RHINE. 13 had seen it coming down the beautiful valley regally arrayed, — robes dyed in the loyal blood of the hills, floating train fringed with harvest grains, the golden hair held by a golden comb, and the fair brow and temples crowned with clustering grapes. We went on board the steamer at six o'clock a. m. The morning was as beautiful as lingering dews and the brightness of an unclouded sky could make it; so fresh and clear, that it was suggestive of Thorwald- sen's thought of Morning, the maiden who through the valleys and over the hill-slopes goes, and with the fanning of her white wings drives away the mists, and scatters flowers and the fragrance of Eden. " Here are good seats, the very best," said Bella, as we passed beneath the red and blue awning that shaded the after-deck. In a few moments we and our belongings were bestowed there, and with "Ha- lenza's Panorama" spread out before us, that we might know " which was which," we yielded our- selves to the pleasant joys of expectancy. But alas! these were of short duration ; once afloat, the silver gleaming and the gorgeous beauty were nowhere to be seen ; the only remarkable thing visible was the dark filthiness of the water, and that teas indeed re- markable, while the shores were flat and uninter- esting, not in the least as we had fancied them. Was it that we had not brought an Uhland and 14 A NEW TREAD IN AX OLD TRACK. a flasclie of Rudesheimer, as some one recommends all Rhine travellers to do ? Suddenly Bella read from " Halenza's Notes" — "At Bonn the real beauty of the Rhine begins to present itself." Then we remembered that it would naturally be disturbed, and put on soberer garments and less festive airs, preparatory to entering the low sand- lands of Holland. And as if to atone for the pains of a seemingly threatened disappointment, and to har- monize our thoughts and sensibilities, a party of German musicians on board began to play Bee- thoven's " Pastoral Symphony." The whispering of trees, the singing of birds, the hunter's horn, the shepherdess' song, the babbling of brooks over pebbly beds, mingling with the rhythm of the swiftly flow- ing waters, were a fitting introduction to the Sie- bengebirge, seen in a silvery semi-transparent light, and to the domes and lofty nriinster tower of Bonn, the birthplace of the master composer. Bonn, as seen from the steamer, lies in a wilderness of shade, allowing only a glimpse of its University buildings, and the grounds of the "Alte Zoll." As we pro- ceeded, the Drachenfels, with their picturesque ruin, rose nearly a thousand feet on the other side. "We could discern, about half way up, the mouth of the cavern where the brave Siegfried sought and slew the dragon. The stone which was first used in the THE RHINE. - 15 - building of the Cathedral of Cologne, was taken from the Drachenfels, but it proved not durable and was superseded by that from the quarry of Andernach. After the Drachenfels, the stream, following the line of the wooded heights, made a more graceful sweep, and smiled with the blooming brightness of the morning. Its surface, shining in the glowing sun, took on changeful hues; lights and shadows played upon it, reproducing masses of foliage, pleasant vil- lages, and tall mountain forms. The vineyards, with lustrous foliage and abundant promises of wine pur- ple fruitage, covered with rich luxuriance the hill- sides, suggesting the intoxicating life of the Rhine- land; making us recognize the real charms of the river, and understand why it is so idealized and glo- rified, so radiant and aureoled to all dreamers and lovers of dreams. The castle of Rolandseck almost overhangs the river, while the shadow of the island and convent of Nonnenwerth lay directly in our path. The legend of Roland and Hildegiinde belongs to both castle and convent, and will invest them with interest so long as there are patient maidens to watch and wait and brave knights to return, suffer, and "smile no more." The next castle was that of Argenfels, now re- stored and occupied. It is one of the stateliest on the river, with pointed towers and turrets, and has 16 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the solidity and the air of security which belong to feudal rather than modern days. Kheineck is also restored, indeed only one tower of the old castle remains. It has bright gardens and tastefully arranged grounds, which come down quite to the water's edge. It forms the boundary between the upper and lower districts of the Khine Provinces, and separates very distinct dialects. At the landing some pretty peasant girls came on board. They wore black bodices and silver chains, they had silver arrowheads in their black hair, and their eyes were a bluish hazel, not the shadows of the vineyards, but of the forests, for they belonged to the Odenwald. Most interesting to us was the quiet, picturesque town of Andernach, with its bells always ringing, its old walls, its tall watch-tower, and the fact that it was a frontier fortress in Imperial days. The tower has its tender legend, that of its once keeper and his wife, and their beautiful daughter — "dead with rosemary in her hands." There is also another story, — that of the man with a lantern, who in the night-time mended the churchyard gate, and the leaky roofs and boats of the poor of Andernach. There is not a scJdoss or berg of the Rhine valley that has not its tale, its brave knight and peerless maiden ; not a village but has its Frau Martha, with her Madonna and Christ story. Something of his- THE RHINE. 17 tory, but much more of fiction belongs to all. Out of the dismantled towers, ivy-covered arches, frown- ing battlements, corn and wine growing hills, and charming villages, Uhland and Schiller, and such as they, have coined the richest treasures of rhythmic and romantic literature. They have garlanded the Rhine with every flower of poetic imagery, and every form of lover-like enthusiasm,, until mistress and queen have seemingly become legitimatized titles. As we approached Coblenz, the beautiful Mosel, sometimes called the " Bride of the Rhine," greeted the well-beloved with its wealth of sunlight glory and submerged treasures of Roman antiquities. If one listened, he might hear the echoes of centuries long gone, the story of a Celtic civilization more an- cient than the Roman, the invasions of Vandals who stained with blood the blossoming hillsides, and the tread of conquerors, such as Cgesar and Constantine. From the steamer one sees the handsome mod- ern buildings of Coblenz, the fine bridge that spans the river, and the bridge of boats, four hundred and seventy feet long, which connects the city with Ehrenbreitstein. The latter place, " the Gibraltar of the Rhine," so renowned for its strength during the middle ages, but finally taken by the French in 1799, and destroyed by them in 1811, has been 18 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. restored and fortified since it came into the posses- sion of Prussia. It is rightly named, for certainly it has sufficiently honorable distinctions; and from below, one can see only the broad face of the rock rising perpendicularly four hundred feet above the water level. Of the restored castles, that of Stolzenfels is the grandest and most imposing. It belongs to the crown of Prussia, and it was to be inferred that it was occupied by some of the royal family, for Prussian flags were floating from its towers. Beyond Boppard, was the convent of Bornhofen, above which rise the castles of Sternenberg and Liebenstein, and call to mind the legend of the two brothers, who unfortunately loved the same maiden. But it would be quite useless to attempt to mention even all the ruins and villages which crown the heights and dot the sunny slopes, or nestle within the soft hollows of the mountains that enclose the river. At Saint Goar we passed under the rocks of the Lorlei. We did not see the beautiful Jungfyau, but we saw the place where she used to sit, A pistol was fired while we were under the rock, that we might hear the remarkable echo; and surely the report of the pistol was repeated many times, but I heard one gentleman say to another, "It is not THE RHINE. 19 the genuine — the wonderful echo; that cannot be heard on the steamer." We had been promised to reach Bingen at three o'clock p. iL ; alas for him who trusts to promises, while en route. It was toward sunset when we passed the Mouse Tower, in which, during a fam- ine, the wicked Bishop Hatto hid his grain, and, lest the people might find it, shut himself up there to keep watch, the result being that the mice ate the grain and the Bishop too. We were delayed at Bingen, because many passengers went ashore there; when we left, the sun had disappeared be- hind the castle-crested hills, and the night had fal- len moonless and dark about us, so that from Bingen to Mayence, we saw nothing. Some English ladies, with whom we had entered into conversation, and who had learned from us that we wished to stop at a German hotel, invited us to join our forces to theirs. They were delicate looking, and one ap- peared to be a confirmed invalid, but when we ar- rived at Mayence, we found she was not. She wanted no carriage, and rang all the changes possi- ble upon "good-for-nothings" and "vagabond" hackdrivers, in good gutteral German, too, such as they could understand. I ventured to protest, suggesting that we did not know the way. "No matter, follow the luggage and you cannot go 20 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. astray," replied she; so follow the luggage we did, and after a long time, with such minor tribulations as losing sight of it at every other turn, etc., fi- nally reached this " Rheinischer Hof," — and genuine Rheinisch it is. At dinner, it took me some time to find out that the beef teas beef, so disguised and lost to taste was it in its sea of sauce. Everything about the house is strange; there are no bells, so a small boy is constantly running hither and thither answering imaginary calls, but no real ones; if a guest w y ants anything he must go to "the office" himself. We are either in the fifth or sixth story; this may seem a singular uncertainty, but I should like to have one look into the court and see if he could get at a certainty, so many and irregular are the different stories. The floor of our room is red tile, there is a bit of carpet before the bed, and the furniture is — imposing; it must have been built in the room, for it is too ponderous to have been brought up from the lower regions. At the first glance, there was such a vast, huge, doleful ex- pression in everything, that a certain timidity — fear of ghosts or something worse — came over me; but when my eye fell on the lighted bougie at the bedside, fear succumbed to amusement; all its suggestions were satirical. Standing on a tall table, and hav- ing not less than three feet of its own height, it THE RHINE. 21 reached nearly to the top of the high bed-posts; and it had a circumference proportionate to its height; yet its blaze was only the faintest, ghostli- est^ glimmer possible. This being a Catholic coun- try, Bella maintains that the bougie is a provision peculiar to hotels in which there are no bells. Should one make his mortal exit in the night time, he would have a light for his initial purga- torial explorations ; it burns so slowly that it would surely last long enough, despite his having been something of a sinner. t How to put out the lofty little twinkle is the present puzzle for our wits. III. HEIDELBERG. Heidelberg is the one place which has always had for us the strongest attractions; even now, as I write the word, there is the old, familiar, joyous thrill of long ago, when Bella and I talked of coming here to study. Shut in as the city is by great hills, with an air of sweet contentful quiet, and every advantage for superior instruction, there could hard- ly be found a better place for the student either of nature or letters; for here beauty and learning have met and embraced each other. Just now, every- thing wears the rich loveliness of mature summer; the foliage is dark and lustrous; the pale colors of the earlier blossoms have been exchanged for those of more brilliant hues; and the atmospheric effects have lost their clear blue in a misty, dreamy gray and purple. Our parlor looks out upon the "An- lage," bright with the scarlet of salvias and the streaked crimson of hollyhocks; there are pansies HEIDELBERG. 23 too, and sweet-scented columbines and marjoram. Across all this bloom are the hills, with their cot- tages and villas, beautiful gardens, and trees cen- turies old; and on the balconies and terraces are groups of ladies and gentlemen, and pretty children in white frocks and gay scarfs, looking down upon us, or over us toward the sunset. On the evening of our arrival, there was to be an illumination of the castle; and long before the ap- pointed hour, all the world, on foot or in carriages, was hurrying to the other side of the river. We were so fortunate as to secure an excellent position directly opposite the castle. The different societies of university students had been spending the day on the mountains, and the illumination was to be the finis of their fiesta. As soon as it was dark, lights ap- peared at various points along the line of the nearest heights, indicating the localities of the different en- campments; and at nine o'clock, the descent began in long orderly files. It was very beautiful ; the bril- liant lines of torchlights one moment interrupted, or broken into a thousand star-like twinklings; the next, shining in long, clear, steady undulations; now weav- ing themselves into fiery garlands under the guid- ance of a frolicking hand, then sending up tall, flaming shoots projected by some sudden breeze; and all this sparkle and glow, this fire and flame, 24 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. moving, winding, creeping down the mountain's side to the river-bank. Thence the societies, in separate bodies, took up the line of march for their respective rendezvous. One company passed near our carriage, and, judging from appearances, one could easily believe that they had had their full share of the five hundred bottles of wine, which it is said the students consume on such days. The scene was splendid while they were crossing the bridge, as a flood of light thrown upon them revealed their silver helmets, the gold and scarlet of their uniforms, and the steely brightness of-their bayonets. The closing of the gate after them was the signal for the illumination. Suddenly, and as if by magic, the castle became visible — stood forth clearly defined from the darkness, warm and glowing, in a soft rose light. Then there was an intensifying of the illumi- nating power, and the grounds could be seen, the lawns and terraces dotted with masses of foliage and broken by intersecting avenues, all tinted deeper and deeper as they shaded off into shadow and the night beyond. Figures moving hither and thither gave life and seeming reality to the whole. The archi- tectural forms were so distinct and so complete, that we who had not seen the castle before, obtained some idea of its wonderful and impressive grandeur. When the illumination was at its brightest, a HEIDELBERG. 25 small steamer, having in tow some twenty or thirty row-boats, filled with the students that were unable to march with their companies, came slowly down the river, with flags and pennons floating from eveiy quarter, and a band playing a favorite melody of the students' "Rammer's Bach." The row-boats were lighted with a variety of soft-toned but strong tints, which, together with the rollicking, picturesque groups on board, were reflected in the water. While they were passing under the bridge, that was as suddenly and magically illumined as the castle had been — the colors being amber, emerald, and dark rose. By their glowing touch, the roughly sculptured statues fixed at regular intervals along its sides were wonderfully transformed and beautified; while the effect on the lines and forms of the. heavy arches was marvellous, changing them into shapes of grace and beauty. The shops and gardens along the river-banks were also illumined, every tree and arbor had its gay-colored lantern; while from the city, fire-balls, Roman-candles, and rockets went up in rapid succession. When the lights of the illumination began to fade, the crowd dispersed. In the west hung heavy, dark clouds; but the east was fair, — the moon had risen clear and bright. We paid a thaler to have the gate reopened for us — for we had lingered longer than the 26 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. crowd — and rode eastward toward the moonlight. Reaching our " Anlage " under the hills, that was full of moonlight, and the sweet odors which only the dewy night distils. One morning a party was made up to visit the castle by daylight. We started early — before the sun had risen to us under the hill. Wishing to re- serve our strength for after use, we took donkeys to relieve the fatigues of the ascent. It was my first experience in donkey riding, and will be my last. The short, stubby motion w r as the most disa- greeable possible; and the creature was so small, that there seemed danger of losing him from under me; — true, the boy might have found him again. Safely arrived at the top, I sent the donkey back, with receipt in full for like services — present and prospective. The grand gateway of the castle, with its port- cullis and watch tower, recalled the fine, familiar en- graving, "Coming of Age in the Olden Time"; this might have been the original. Within the court, the gendarme furnished us with tickets and a guide. To one who has read history, it is impossible to see such a grand remnant of the past without in imag- ination repeopling its empty chambers with the brightest, fairest forms, and listening for the sounds of revelry and the stately tread and sweeping purple HEIDELBERG. 27 of royalty. In the audience chamber, a rude stone marks the place of the throne. Of the gorgeous and magnificent decorations of the great (so-called) with- drawing room, nothing is left; there is only the bare, walled enclosure, with trees and wild grown shrub- bery filling the blank of its desolation. In the room said to have been a library, there is a well-preserved mantel, of which the carvings are most curious; they are floral, their arrangement indicating some sym- bolical intention. The banquet halls (of which there are several) retain no visible traces of their former grandeur, these chief glories of elector and electress are shorn of all but legendary splendors. Beneath, we found prison labyrinths, deep and dark, and seemingly interminable; one of the grimmest and gloomiest of the underground dungeons bears the name of " Nimmerleer," a striking illustration of the cowardice and cruelty that marked the days of the Palatinate. Many wonderful things have been collected in what is called the armory, but they have a suspicious look — that of a gotten-up antiquity ; the statues in the chapel, too, evidently have been hacked and stained to give them an ancientness not their own, and make them harmonize with the aged and battered marvels of their surroundings. A cask in one of the cellars, known as the " Heidel- berg Tun," is surely a wonder, when viewed as a 28 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ivine cask. The young people had a dance on the top; but it was not after the manner or spirit of the olden times. Then, the vintage had just been gathered, the Tun filled with its 283,200 bottles of wine, and the dancers were gay roisterers, over- flowing with the exciting, exhilarating gladness of the vintage season. The castle is roofless in the older, unrestored parts; but the walls are draped with dark ivy and white and purple clematis, which makes picturesque and beautiful their solemn, time-worn, and storm- beaten grandeur, — like the sweet loveliness of child- hood caressing and clinging to old age. A portion of the Gesprengte Thurm lies in the moat, covered with masses of tangled vines and a wild growth of many-colored blossoms, while the circular space of the tower, some eighty feet in diameter, is filled with the shade of lindens, and suggestions of the many and terrible sieges which the castle has sus- tained. Beneath this tower are long casemated passages: — seeing these, it occurred to us to ques- tion the guide in regard to the subterranean pas- sages which are said to have connected the castle with Wolfsbrunnen, and the Abbey of the Heiligen- berg, the former of which has been used in the plot of a once popular novel. " If they ever existed," he replied,' "they have been known only to ghosts HEIDELBERG. 29 for these hundreds of years ; the students are always inventing such stories;" and surely, nothing, I think, would be too extravagant to be hatched beneath their fanciful skull caps. We were shown a deep, well-like enclosure, which it is supposed might have led down to these passages. Evidently it once en- closed a steep, spiral staircase, but probably led to some of the deeper, more secret prisons ; or it might have been an actual well, supplied with water by some underground conduit. From the octagonal 'tower at the corner of the "Altan" there is a magnificent view: on the one hand the mountains out of which flows the Neckar; on the other, the town with its shaded squares and brown and gray structures, the shining river making broad its way to the Rhine, the white road running down to Neuenheim, the plain golden with the bearded grain waiting the sickle, and the hillsides ruddy with ripening vineyards. Above is the Philosopher's Walk, and the Heiligenberg, along the summit of which runs the famous Bergstrasse, toward, and into, the Oldenwald. Descending, we returned to the quadrangular court, so curious in carvings, so profusely ornamented with relievos and 'statues, that it is said to be second only to the Alhambra in rich- ness and impressiveness. The architecture of the castle is of so many and so widely differing periods 30 ' A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. that there is little harmony of design or even of general effect, The bau built by the Elector Fred- erick in honor of his Avife, the daughter of King James of England, far surpasses any other in mag- nificence. The poor princess would have been much happier, had she preferred it and the title of Elec- tress, to poverty and the empty title of Queen, When we had come into the light and sunshine without, we wandered through the grounds, under the grand old trees, sitting awhile in one delightful spot, and then strolling on and finding another even more lovely to our thinking than the former, till we reached the eastern terrace overlooking the river. Here, the music of the band playing in the garden of the " Restauration," came only in the sweetest, softest strains, and we gazed upon loveliness such as our eyes had never before beheld; we drank it in with the sunshine, and inhaled the odorous breath of the air, " in reveries lost," till the shadows of the Heiligenberg began to stretch themselves across the valley; then we came down to the river's side, down by the arched terraces and winding footpaths, through shady avenues to Ludwig's Platz, and past the uni- versity buildings, home — the home on the Anlage. There we found letters from the home on " the other side," which made a fit ending to a most charming day. HEIDELBERG. 31 "One cannot stay always in Heidelberg," broke •out Bella, one morning, as I, in a dreamy, wistful delight, stood looking up the hill, toward the mist- crowned Konigsstuhl. "Of course not; who thinks of such a thing? But this 'wealth of sound and sight,' this glory of hills and clouds — shall we ever look upon their like again?" questioned I, regretfully; nevertheless, obedient to the law of necessity, gave attention to the preparations for departure. Another day would have given us an opportunity for one more stroll out to Wolfsbrunnen. No future expe- riences will ever dim the ineffable, wholly satisfy- ing delights of this' our favorite walk; whether we took it in the early morning, walking straight into the golden flood of a sunrise, or whether, in the late afternoon, we went to meet the coming twilight, when the shadows were long and strange, and the river seemed to reach from hill to hill, and Fraulein M e would quite gravely assure us that the en- chantress Jetta killed all the wolves. We usually went by the upper way, following the windings of a foot-path which opens opposite the castle-gate, into dark thickets, up and down slopes, flowery and fra- grant, under old, broad-branching trees, till we came upon the open ridge of hills outside the castle grounds, and thence through orchards and fields — with the Valley of the Neckar, its village and white spires 32 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. and terraced vine hills, before us — to the thick, over- grown wood, in which the springs or trout lakes lie. We always returned by the lower road, under the hills, along the riverside. I never attempt to speak of the Neckar but I feel the utter poverty of my words, their inability to tell anything of its strange, sweet, never-to-be-forgotten loveliness. The Khine is a grand, gorgeous, mature beauty, whom every one knows and lauds, but the Neckar is a coyer maiden, dwelling in retirement and carefully chaperoned by great, protecting hills. One must seek it to know and love it; must live with it to find out its peculiai character, its individual wealth and charm. IV. BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. Baden Baden offered us some compensation foi Heidelberg in the beauty of the " Oel-Bach " valley, the hills overhanging it with their castle and ruins, and last, but by no means least, its nearness to the Black Forest. Our most delightful drive was out to the little village of Oberbeurn, three miles from Baden, at the entrance of one of the loveliest val- leys of the Forest border, and hemmed in by hills covered with firs, larches, and pines, whose deli- cious perfume the famed spices of Araby's coast could scarcely equal. We went to Oberbeurn to meet a party of friends, eight young ladies, who had been on a three weeks' foot -tour through the Forest. They were in excellent spirits, and could have walked fifty or a hundred miles further, judging from their appearance. The only " lifts by the way " that they would acknowledge, were occa- sional rides in the dog-carts of the peasants. 34 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. The season being nearly over, the crowd of fash- ionables at Baden was not large ; only a few osten- sible health-seekers lingered still, and made their "three times daily" visits to the springs, which doubtless are quite as efficacious for the diseases of the present day as they were for those of the Romans. Near the Vapor Baths were found exten- sive remains of Roman Baths, some of which are still preserved, being built into the walls of the former. All the woe-begone, pale faces of despair have not disappeared with the duke's license and the public gaming tables; they are occasionally seen lurking about the springs and the "Conversationliaus" But one forgets them, and all they suggest of gam- bling in secret places and the terrible consequences of the all-absorbing passion, when he has climbed up to the palace terrace, and looks down upon the beautiful town, cut by the silver sparkle of the "Oel," and upon the glories of the valley spread out before him, and as the evening mists begin to gather beneath the chestnut and the lime trees, listens to the vesper bells of the Convent of Lich- tenthal. W T e left Baden Baden in the early morning; the sun had climbed the mountains, but over the val- ley hung low clouds, sometimes heavy, sometimes light and broken enough to afford glimpses of the BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 35 tipper regions, the sunny heights with their ruins, and a clear, heavenly blue sky, which for us, was a welcome weather prophecy. The journey to Stras- bourg occupied a little more than two hours, and was a series of charming views; on our left was the Black Forest with its night of pines and firs, and groups of mountain forms; a little further, on a barren summit, a monument of red sandstone in memory of Erwin, the architect of the Cathedral of Strasbourg; then a ruin; further a castle on the hillside, and now a monument again; — all records of great men and notable deeds. Long before reaching the city the spire of the Cathedral became visible. To our eager, expectant desires, the time spent in following the devious ways of the railroad encircling it, seemed not a small piece of the century; and the fields through which we were moving, more like the waves that were an agony to Tantalus than the smiling plains of a flower-bloom- ing suburb. The long open squares on each side of the Cathe- dral make it easy to get an unbroken view and a definite impression of the whole, to see and feel the full effect of its combined Roman and Gothic styles. The mid-day sun flooding its architectural forms and masses, gave them a peculiar resplendent whiteness, suggestive and seemingly symbolical of the highest, 36 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. most spiritual quality of light, that which, radiating from the shining One, floods the streets and temples of the holy Jerusalem. The spire, the loftiest in Eu- rope, and exquisite in Gothic lines and fancies, rises lightly and gracefully toward the celestial blue, till, lost in the shimmering golden dazzle of the sun- light, it seems to pierce the heavens; and like it, the up-lifted, fascinated eye would fain penetrate the vaulted vail. The south front is covered with statues of saints and martyrs, kings and heroes, which add to it not their beauty only, but the ac- cumulated history of which they are the represen- tatives. They stand in a grand, impressive silence, their stony gaze fixed on the processional ages as they pass, — stand unmoved amid noise and tumult, the clash of arms, the shouts of victory, the cries of a nation's anguish, or the exultant throb of a nation's joy. The interior is strikingly grand and impressive; the statues which adorn the lofty columns are at first scarcely discernible; the spaces are filled with shadows intermingled with a light flickering and dubious, which dies out as distance stretches itself into the obscurity of the choir, and is lost in a background of still deeper darkness. Within the r.hoir was the sound of chanting, followed by the grand anthem tones of the organ; the late morn- BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 37 ing service was closing in stately, joy-laden harmo- nies. It is here, in the choir and crypt, that one sees the purely Eomanesque foundation of the struct- ure, the primitive beginning, around which the Gothic clusters with its miracles of beauty and sublimity. We looked into the cold, dark crypt, but saw only a stone Bishop lying there with folded hands, pa- tiently waiting till the archangel shall summon the sleeping dust over which he keeps guard. Above the choir and the gloomy, changing shad- ows is a stained-glass window, luminous with ra- diant groups and angel faces; opposite, far above all strange darkness and solemn obscurities, flash the crimson and purple splendors of a rose-window, its blue and black border deepening and toning all. Along the aisles, written on the glowing window panes, deep within the arches, one may read all the revelations of sacred history; the bright sunlight without intensifying the glory of their emerald, and violet, and the mystic magnificence of their gold, crimsons, and azures. Nowhere have I seen such striking contrasts of lights and shadows, as when standing in the nave and looking upward; — lights and shadows ! within them lies the great mystery of expression. Their subtle secrets were known to those who built this Cathedral, for in every form and effect, it appeals directly to the heart. While the 38 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. well-defined sentiment of the Cathedral of Cologne is evidently that of praise, the up-lifting of the soul to its Maker in emotional raptures of wonder and thanksgiving; of this of Strasbourg, it is as plainly that of prayer. In its grand, solemn vastness, the world with its cares and interests, its small anxieties and trivial vexations, seems far away, and the over- burdened soul instinctively lays its needs, longings, and sorrows before the compassionate, always-loving Father; pours out the cries of its distress and its wants, and asks for help. Some of the sculptures in the south aisle were exe- cuted by Sabina, the daughter of the architect; they are, however, hardly to be compared with those of the south portal by the same hand. The latter rep- resent the legendary story of the death, burial, and resurrection of the Virgin, also the Judgment of Sol- omon, with some figures symbolical of Christianity and Judaism. All these are as wonderful in grace and loveliness, as they are in strength and variety of conception. A true poet, she wrote her epics and lyrics with mallet and chisel, and so wrote that six hundred years have not lessened or marred their beauty. Six hundred years has she slept the dream- less sleep; yet to-day she lives in the imperishable stone, comes dow r n to us through all the ages with unlost individuality of thought and eloquence of ex- BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 39 pression. Is not this winning an enviable fame, a something akin to immortality? The question occurs to me just here, why some of my countrywomen, who are so eager to enlarge the " sphere of woman's work," do not study architecture with a view to making it their profession. As yet I know of no one who has done so, or only so far as to study sculpture, the mere decorative part of archi- tecture. In this direction one noteworthy step has been taken within a few years, the result being that the portal of one of our church school buildings is adorned with a figure of much grace and beauty — a symbol in stone of the purest Christian and womanly virtues — the work of a lady gifted with genius no less than with true artistic and religious feeling. Architecture, in the province of its vast designs, i. e., the building of churches, cathedrals, and other public structures, makes demands upon almost every department of mechanics and art; consequently it requires the highest intellectual creative gifts, as well as years of careful, patient, and laborious study. In its nobler achievements, it is the grandest, most comprehensive and most enduring of all material forms of expression ; that in which a people records the most important events of its past and present, and shadows forth the hopes of its future. As an aesthetic art, it is the culmination of all others, the 40 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. sublime heaven into which they are lifted by the pains and longings of a nation's intellectual and spiritual growth. Into this lofty province only the most gifted of men or women may venture, those whose genius and high ideal aspirations make it not a profanation for them to dare to look toward the heights of Michael Angelo and his compeers. In the nearer province of domestic architecture, women may ordinarily find a field broad enough for their ready perceptions and clever inventions; one in which they may rule supremely if they choose, making our dwellings to be, not perhaps joys for- ever, but present joys of fitness, beauty, and con- venience, architectural poems of home and home-life. It is not needful to go to Egypt to see mummies; we saw two in one of the chapels of St. Thomas in Strasbourg, said to be the bodies of Count Nassau- Saarbriicken and his daughter; the Count and Count- ess having put off " this mortal coil " some time in the sixteenth century. On their faces was the calm- ness which the touch of the death angel always leaves; his seal set for eternity; but it was a pain- fully solemn and severe calmness, as if deprecating any disturbance from profane curiosity. In the same church is Pigalle's allegorical group in memory of Marshal Saxe, the hero of the Flemish wars of 1744 to 1748, and great-grandfather of George BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 41 Sand. In current history, his services to France seemed to be overshadowed by his relationship to her. The critics render just homage to her genius, and, making charity and compassionateness atone for all errors, tenderly draw a veil of excuses over her life a*nd its principles as written out in her books. One would not underrate her admirable gifts or literary skill; but it seems not fair that attention should be called so persistently to the sweet, music- ally flowing rhythm, the -pure and exquisitely tinted beauty of her style, and no warning given of the baneful poison lurking beneath the music and the bloom. V. FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. Tarrying for only a day or two in any of the old cities of Europe, even the most industrious traveller finds little new whereof to write, for the changes taking place are mostly of a political character, and affect only the general government; consequently do not lie near enough the local "surface of things" to be patent to the ordinary tourist. Besides, one finds that what interests him most is that with which, through letters and books, he was most familiar be- fore he left home. If he stops in Berne for an hour, as we did, he will hasten to the Cathedral to see the famous clock and hear the organ, both of which he may do if he happen there at midday, and then, hav- ing a few minutes more, will climb the terrace op- posite the Cathedral, that he may get a view of the long range of the Oberland Alps, which, if it be his first sight of Alpine wonders, will fill his soul with a rare and rapturous delight. Their misty whiteness, FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 43 is it of clouds or of snow? Do they reach up to the pearly gates of heaven, or do the heavens, bend- ing low, touch the white-crowned encampment, the mighty array of mountain ranges? Journeying on southward, the views became in- creasingly enchanting; each change in the road dis- closing new wonders of atmospheric effects and mountain splendors; now a range bathed in a soft gray or misty blue, now rugged sides aflame with hues of amethyst and gold; soon Mont Blanc, the mighty monarch, with gleaming diadem and robes of dazzling white, rose in the dim distance. Finally, after passing through a long tunnel, we came out upon the heights above Lausanne, where before us lay Lake Leman, a low blue crescent, tremulous in a liquid, golden light, the Dent de Modes, the Dent du Midi, and the pass into Valais, being on our left, and on our right precipitous wooded slopes, beyond which was the city of Geneva, under great, shadowy mountain shoulders, haloed by the glories of Cha- mouny's summits and passes. In Geneva our time was short, and there was so much to be seen that our party separated, each go- ing his own whither; one to the island, which with its monument keeps the stained and ill-omened re- membrance of Rousseau; one to the famous watch manufactories and dealers in wood carvings and 44 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Alpine agates, while Bella and I, crossing the mag- nificent Mont Blanc bridge, strolled through the quaint quarters of the old town, and toiled up the steep, narrow streets to the Cathedral of St. Peter's, a Byzantine structure of the twelfth centu^ , occu- pying the site of an ancient temple of Apollo. We returned to the hotel along the banks of the Khone, past the " foaming rapids " and the supposed site of Calvin's house. Those who would make pilgrimages to his grave, have to be content with the spirit rather than the letter of the undertaking, for nothing is cer tain except that he was buried in the cemetery of Plain Palais. "The spot," said Pastor Galliton as long ago as 1730, to a Scotch Presbyterian, who was very anxious to find it, " has been suffered to be forgot, it being foreseen that a superstitious Presby- terian would one day come and make more stir about it than was fit." The present century has tried to remedy the intentional forgetfulness of that time, by determining upon a place, and putting thereon a cube of stone with the name of John Calvin cut upon it, but that it is the exact place of his burial there is scarcely any probability. Geneva has given birth to many whose names are brilliant both in his- tory and literature — Neckar, De Saussure, De Can- dolle, Sismondi, and others, but her chief glory among cities is that, embracing the doctrines of the Refor- FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 45 mation, she early became a model in morals for all Europe, and the refuge and battle-ground of many eminent reformers. However ill-directed and fruit- less may prove the recent labors of the once Carmel- ite monk, but always sincere priest of reform in the Komish Church, the Alt-Catholic movement, which has its stronghold there, surely cannot fail; its en- ergies are too deeply seated in the spiritual necessi- ties of human progress; its life, vitalized and girded with the force of such necessities, must grow and bear fruit. We came through from Geneva to Marseilles with- out stopping, arriving in the early morning; this gave us a half day for Marseilles before the train would leave by which we were to proceed to Nice. In our impatient eagerness to see the marvellous blue of the ancient Tyrrhenian Sea, we swallowed our breakfasts after the " ail-aboard " fashion of rail- way restaurants, and hastened to the quays; there it was, beautiful and blue, but so far away ! In the foreground there was only bustle and confusion; all the nationalities of the globle were there congre- gated, Orientals, Greeks, Italians, English, Ameri- cans, and natives. Sailors were hurrying hither and thither; to the eye a bewildering, mingling, and con- fusion of color; to the ear — in their diversity of tongues — from the soft liquids of the south, to the 46 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. harsh, rasping gutturals of the north — a maddening distraction. Escaping from it all as soon as possible, we betook ourselves to the heights of one of the nearest fortifications, from which we had a view not only of the quays and the shipping in the harbor, but of the whole magnificent bay with its rocky points stretching out into the blue transparency, and its beautiful sun-lit islands, warm and glowing in their setting of opalescent splendors. We made the acquaintance of Nice under circum- stances disadvantageous to Nice certainly, to say nothing of ourselves. A few scattered clouds with plume-like pennons in their wake, had been floating lightly and capriciously in the direction of the moun- tains, as if uncertain whether to advance or retreat. Before we reached Toulon, they had gathered to- gether, and hung in heavy, black masses along the margin of the sea; but they kept their threatening attitude for only a few moments, then thundered and stormed; and down poured the rain as if all the cloud gates of heaven were flung open at once. Ar- riving at Nice, we sought the nearest possible shelter, remained there weather-bound for two days, and left as soon as the sun came out and drove the clouds and Alpine winds back to the mountains. And now, we shall never know whether Nice is a "charming" town, when the winds do not blow T , and the sun shines. FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 47 If one would feel himself lifted up bodily into Paradise, let him at Nice take a front seat on the top of a diligence and start for Genoa by the Cor- nice road; his French-Italian vetturino accompany- ing the measured click of the horse's hoofs on the smooth hard way, and the silvery jingle of their little bells, with snatches of airs from Trovatore or Sonnambula. One speeds gayly on and up, the road rising higher and higher above the glittering waters, rattles through the picturesque little village of Villa Franchia, with its church and monastery, and its historical ruins; losing sight of the turquoise azure of the sea and the pale violet of the yet misty slopes, as he approaches the chief of spectacular pomps — the early morning bursting in haloes of splendor on the mountain tops. The highest point of the road is the "Roches Rouges," where one may per- chance learn something of the temper of Alpine winds. The real charm of the Cornice begins with the descent toward Mentone. One moment we were rushing along narrow mountain edges, where pre- cipitous rocks, draped with October's brown and scarlet hued vines, rose on one side, and gorges with noisy streams hidden beneath wildernesses of foliage lay deep down on the other; the next, we seemed to have come to the end of the road; but we were whirled quickly around the apparent obstruction, 48 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. and then perhaps down into a deep, walled ravine, where for a moment overhanging masses shut out both sun and sky; but passing a before unseen bridge, which at the bottom spanned the flowing vein of the mountain's heart, we were rushed up the other side and out into a dazzling, joyful sun- shine. Mentone lies close upon the sea, protected from the "moods of the mountains" by the encircling arms of the "Roches Rouges/' whose sharp reliefs and intaglios form a rich background for the nearer softly swelling slopes of olive green. It is a quiet, lovely place, with an air of cheerful, contented rest- fulness; where it would seem that invalids might woo and win back their losses; the steadfast moun- tains, with their pure, exhilarating airs, persistent to stimulate the flagging will, and the sea, singing its song of " Evermore and forever," stretching itself far away into the dreamy splendors of the southern horizon. Fishermen were hauling in their nets, well- laden; their red shirts and blue jackets, their blue and red caps, long black beards, bronzed complex- ions, and energetic gestures, making a striking pic- ture, and reminding one of that other and older group, as a study for which they would have served an artist's pencil well, the fishermen of the coast of Galilee. FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 49 After leaving Mentone, the olive became more frequent, and the fruit larger, judging from that offered us by the peasants ; who, seated by the road- side, around huge caldrons, were boiling it for the oil. We slept at Oneglia, if it could be called sleep- ing to lie in bed consciously and impatiently watch- ing for the morning. Everything and everybody wore a brigandish look; the old woman who brought our candles had the ugliest, most wicked face con- ceivable; still she did not attempt to murder us, that we know of. The town is set on the rocks, between close hills, with an outlook and open road- way to the sea, its public square or market-place occupying a small, flinty level in the centre. The features of the heights which form its background, are as bold as picturesque; seamed with ridges and shadows of glens. It is famous for being the birth- place of one of Genoa's most distinguished sons, Andrea Doria, citizen, admiral, and doge, in the palmy day of the Republic. From Oneglia we had two very intelligent and interesting fellow travellers, on their way to Berg- amo, a city in the north. They discoursed bravely and enthusiastically of their beloved Italy, seeming to have perfect faith in her future as a United Italy, now that her capital is fixed securely at Rome. The chief delight of this our second day upon the 50 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Cornice road, was that it almost overhung the sea; sometimes we seemed to be riding directly into the liquid opal — a strong white light having changed the clear azure of the water into an opaline blue; but a sharp, hitherto hidden angle would turn us suddenly from the apparently imminent plunge. The road follows all the indentations of the shore ; where- ever a projecting rock rises perpendicularly from the water's edge, it is outwitted by the engineer's skill, a tunnel making clear the way. The " Marble Gal- lery," so-called, is that portion of the road along which all the rock formations are of marble, often as white as that of Carrara. They are so perpendicular, so seamed with ridges and veins, so castle-like in forms, that one could almost believe them a wall of marble castles, duly provided with watch-towers, battlements, and turrets. This gallery is one of na- ture's occasional and peculiar expressions of wonder- ful individuality, whose white and stately beauty nothing mars, and also of self-centered repose, the deep-rooted foundations of which neither thunder nor whirlwind, it would seem, can shake. At sunset Ave had left the "Marble Gallery"; between us and it lay a warm, brilliant sky, whose broad tints of orange and crimson strove each for pre-eminence, and, before us, opened the valley in which lay the city of Genoa, filling with the soft, shadowy mists of FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 51 the coming twilight. As we neared the city, over the Pisan hills came the new moon with its tender light, softening the harsh outlines of the heavy walls and ponderous gateway through which we had to pass, and which had seemed in the gathering obscurity suggestive of vague and unwelcome possibilities. YI. FROM GENOA TO ROME. Next morning we awoke with the joyful conscious- ness that we were in Italy — the land which has myr- tle groves, palm trees, laurels wherewith to crown poets, and a sea breaking in canticles upon shores strewn with pearls and corals. It is true that Genoa is not quite the dreamful, song-inspiring South, nev- ertheless we found her a continual wonder and de- light. Queen-like she sits enthroned on her hill- sides at the foot of the Alps and Apennines, stately and beautiful still, but no longer a felt power as when she held the scale between contending em- pires; when her gallant and mighty fleets swept the waters of the Mediterranean and Black Seas, a threat to Venice and a terror to the Saracen ; when her ships brought gold and purple from Asia, and her neighbor Pisa paid tribute at her gates. The double wall encircling the city, the ramparts and forts of which make imperial silhouettes against the FROM GENOA TO ROME. 53 sunny heights, and the two crescent-like moles that defend the waters of her harbor, give her an appear- ance of maritime strength, such as no power seem- ingly would dare attack. If there is any intimation of weakness, it is of quite another sort; the bare, rounded summits, and square, heavy mountain-spurs which rise in the background, suggest a spent vital- ity of soil ; but nothing of this is visible in the near luxuriantly blooming hills. Formerly near the dogana one saw the chains of the Pisan gates, festooned garland-like, but in the altered attitude of the two cities, they lost their air of triumphal derision. Once Genoa was called " La Superba " because of her wealth and proud, haughty self-assertion, but she holds the title now more in right of the grandeur of her palaces and the magnificence of her situation. The streets are all " up-and-down hill," very narrow and very irregular, excepting a few, to which, follow- ing the examples of other and younger cities, she has given a little more breadth; so much that two car- riages meeting may pass. But she lacks essentially the openness of space necessary to real grandeur, which a city with elements of activity and progress, and a sense of awakening to "newness of life," should strive to obtain. Of the rich and endless details of the palaces, too much can scarcely be said; particularly of those 54 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. which the hand of repair keeps clothed with real splendors. One may wander on and on, and never tire of the bright, wild fancies that adorn the walls and ceilings, the colors as fresh as if of yesterday's creating. The smooth, polished pavements — mosaics or inlaid wood — return no sound of intruding feet, but fascinate with their bewitching novelty and beau- ty of design. The art and other* collections, once gathered in the galleries of these palaces, and the finest then in all Europe, are mostly scattered, either by the division of heritage, or to supply impoverished exchequers. The exteriors, not only of the palaces, but of all structures that have outside frescoes, are much impaired; the colors are dim — faded: wreaths have lost the purple of their violets, crowns their gold and jewels, Cupids their rosiness, and angels their wings. Many of the palaces have been given over to " Lessees of Apartments " and the interests of " Tradespeople," while some seemed to be almost abandoned. The most interesting and striking of these, is the Doria, which is associated with the ac- tive, brilliant, and illustrious periods of Genoese his- tory; it was once the pride of the government and the glory of the citizen. But its sumptuousness and magnificence have departed; its windows are closed; its corridors dilapidated; its marble columns are stained and broken; the treasures of its picture FROM GENOA TO ROME. 55 galleries, who can tell whither they have gone? The gardens are still sweet with the odors of lemon and orange trees; fountains play from broken basins, watched by decapitated nymphs and limbless cher- ubs; the palace with well-preserved stateliness and massiveness of towers and turrets and heavy marble balconies, still overlooks the sea ; but one must evoke the august shades that wander through its desolate- ness to know much of its once noble and imposing grandeur. The great prince was not unmindful of the instability of sublunary things, for over the por- tal is the inscription, "Nulli certa domus." One morning, returning from a visit to the United States Consulate, we unexpectedly found ourselves standing in front of the old Cathedral of San Lorenzo, where centuries ago Columbus heard mass and dreamed of a new world westward of the seas. The facade, formed of broad alternate stripes of black and white marble, is very odd in effect. The interior is one gorgeous accumulation of beauty and richness; the walls are of highly polished variegated marble, the arches of the roof and domes are brilliant with frescoes, and the altars and shrines are loaded with gifts of gold, silver and jewels. One of the treasures of the Cathedral is the " Sacro Catino, 1 ' given by the queen of Sheba to King Solomon, from which, accord- ing to tradition, Christ ate the paschal Lamb. It is 56 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. cut from a single piece of colored glass, once the wonder and admiration of every one who looked upon it, being supposed to be an emerald; it is still so called by the accommodating sacristan. The richest chapel is that of St. John Baptist, into which, because of Herodias' daughter, no woman is allowed to enter except on one certain day in the year. It has all the conceivable splendors of marble, both of color and polish, and the beauty and sentiment of the finest paintings after famous masters; it has even inherited material of Solomon's temple, for one of its pillars, it is said, was brought thence. Truly, it is a grand enthusiasm that builds such churches, though it is to be regretted that it is not a less superstitious one, thought we, standing in the reflected splendor of the windows, through the rainbow hues of which was pouring a flood of sunshine. During the day we strolled into another church, the like of which, for marvellousness of color and ap parent costliness, I had never before imagined. It was built four or five hundred years ago by a certain rover of the seas, in expiation of his crimes. The columns and pillars — some being made of twisted stalactites — are wonderfully beautiful, springing from their bases with exquisite grace, and a seeming im- pulse of joy, to give their support to a weight of gilded cornices and pediments, and groups of golden FROM GENOA TO ROME. 57 angels. The walls, one would suppose, were inlaid with precious stones rather than marbles, so definite and luminous are the colors which they reflect; the roof, crowned with a dome worthily splendid, sparkles and glows as if encrusted with gems set in burnished sunshine. There are numberless pictures, many of which make visible the wondrous opulence and glory of art; some telling the stories of the prophets and kings of the Old Revelation, while those which serve as altar-pieces, represent either a Virgin listening to the first promises of a coming Saviour, or a sweet- faced, rejoicing Madonna, bending with questioning wonder over the child Jesus; or more frequently, the scenes of the Mount, the Garden, and the Cross. It is lamentable that the symbol is so universally taken for the fact symbolized, by the faithful of the Romish Church ; many persons were postrate in real, devout penitence or rapt-ecstasy before these altar- pictures. Romanism works through such subtle mysteries ! sometimes through the purest, most spir- itual ideals; sometimes through the grossest and most sensuous materialism ! Of the mosaics of the pave- ments of this church, of their richness of color and grace of designs, not a hundredth part could be told ; they seemed too wonderful and precious to be trodden upon ; and into what an enhanced, enchanted beauty 58 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. were they surprised by the unexpected shining here and there of a stray sunbeam ! One afternoon, when the air was like wine for ex- hilaration, and the clouds like pearl crowns set upon the mountains, we drove to the little suburban vil- lage of Albaro. Our vetturino pointed out to us, with the air of one accustomed to doing it as a part of his supposed contract, the Villa Bagnerello, or Pink Jail, where Dickens lived for three months once; "a man who wrote a great many books," we were kindly informed. Dickens gives a delightful sketch of the Villa and its neighborhood, in his "Pictures from Italy." Keturning from Albaro, we found we were in time for the fashionable promenade in the " Acqua Sola." A military band was playing, and the Genoese no- bility and other gentry were airing their splendors of titles, decorations and equipages. Not a pezzotfo did we see during the whole day; like the Spanish mantilla, it is seldom seen except at mass. If we might venture an opinion in the matter, the Genoese ladies can ill afford to dispense with the pezzotto's white, floating gauziness. Their beauty is of the LMubonpoint style, and the pezzotto has the most charming illusory effects, softening all heaviness of features, and lending something of its own airiness to the figure. In the faces of the Geneose, one sees FROM GENOA TO ROME. 59 just a perceptible change of type — a change from the active intellectuality of the North to the dolci- far-niente of the South, amounting to a suggestion of indolent sensuality. From the heights which rise in the background of the Villa Negro, one has the fine and famed out- look toward the sea. Beneath are the stately pal- aces, the beautiful terraced gardens with shaded walks, the silver sparkle and rainbow play of foun- tains, the white gleam of • marble columns and statue- groups amid green luxuriance, and the sunny Cor- nice, which, taking up the mystery of its windings and vistas, trails its white way along the coast toward Spezia; while before one, is the blue Mediterranean kissing the feet of the queenly city, its surface un- broken save by the slight ripple of a scarcely per- ceptible breeze, or the changing sheen of the daz- zling sunlight, so broad and so boundless ! Why could not one throw in an island or two ? Yes, it is islands that the gulf of Genoa wants to make it perfect; the eye wanders too far and too vaguely, with* no place of rest! However thankful for blissful hours of thoughtful converse and idle dreaming on hills fragrant with flowers and shaded with interlacing groves, and within the shadow-haunied walls of neglected, de- cayed palaces, still we must confess that we were 60 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. never so much in love with Genoa as to wish to live with her always, taking her for better and for worse; so, one evening when the stars were shin- ing out of the depths of the sky, and the " revolving lantern " throwing its light far out to sea, we went on board the steamer Sardinia, bound for Leghorn. The next morning we awoke, and found that we were already at anchor in the harbor " where we would be." Little boats were pushing off from the shore, coming out to take passengers and luggage up to the city. Once landed, a few friendly liras rushed us through the dogana and to the " Hotel d'Europe," where w r e were joined by friends who had hurried on from Nice that they might visit the quarries of Carrara. Leghorn has a business-like ac- tivity which quite distinguishes it from other Italian cities; it is in this respect alone that it makes any separate or individual impression ; it is comparatively a modern city, having attained its commercial im- portance only after the destruction of the harbor of Pisa. Many of the finest suburban villas are occu- pied by Jews, they being the wealthier and larger portion of the population. Our chief anxiety about Leghorn was to get out of it as soon as possible, and the remembrance of our continually baffled efforts to that effect is like a dis- turbed dream of Purgatory — nothing else expresses FROM GENOA TO ROME. 61 it. We finally overcame our "sea of troubles," — bankers, guides, missing letters, etc., and started for Pisa. At the station, tourists from every quarter of the globe had congregated, in numbers rivalling the Roman legions; all going out to Pisa. We con- cluded that they too had heard of the "Tower all awry " ; and that it was the Tower that caused them to let loose a Babel-like confusion of tongues. Arrived, there was no difficulty in finding — quite apart from the small stir of the town — the quaint lit- tle square around which are grouped the four struc- tures that have made Pisa one of the wonderful cities of the world, her Cathedral, Baptistery, Tower, and Campo Santo. The tower leans quite enough; the charm of its grace and lightness is lost in a half apprehensive consciousness of its much aslant- ness ; a consciousness, of which one cannot rid him- self, notwithstanding the many times he is reminded that it has stood "just so" for centuries. It is said of Pisa, that she is dead, and that during her lifetime of splendid powers and untold wealth she built her monument, the Campo Santo. If she is dead, it is fitting that a cemetery should be her monument, and that flowers springing from the dust of buried generations should weave her mortuary crown. The burial court, the earth of which was brought from the Holy Land, is surrounded by mar- 62 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ble walls with lofty arcades, and high oval windows the light columns of the latter are ornamented with sculptured ivies and roses. The monuments are of all epochs; classic tombs, with bacchanalian nymphs and fauns, stand beside others shadowed by the cross or guarded by white-winged angels. The peculiar light that foils upon all, animates them with a beauty of seeming warmth and life. In the sculptures of John and Andrew of Pisa one sees the ever recurring idea of death triumphant in immortality; Prophets, Evangelists, Saints, after their pilgrimages of peni- tence and labor, enter conquerors into Eternal Pos- sessions. In cemeteries, one realizes that human his- tory is but a procession of shadows — one feels how surely "the night of death cometh to all," but not less surely the coming of the morning ! Crossing one of the bridges of the " Lung 'Arno " on our way back to the railway station, we heard near us a sweet voice singing "Bellessimi Fiori"; looking in the direction whence it came, we saw a child of seven or eight years of age standing in the shadow of the guard-house. Coming up to her, and stooping to take a bunch of her roses and violets, I perceived that there was no light in the upturned eyes — the child was blind. The suddenness of the revelation, the mute appeal of the sightless eyes, the gentle, pathetic melancholy of the face, addressed FROM GENOA TO ROME. 63 and thrilled my spirit indescribably. The touching scene and the sound of the sweet " BeLlessimi Fiori " haunt my memory yet, try to shut them out as I will. When even Italy may be as a forgotten dream, I shall still see the face and hear the voice of this child — Nydia of Pisa. Either we were occupied with other thoughts (the near presence of Rome) or the scenery after leaving Siena was too dull and monotonous to arouse our enthusiasm. The rocky peaks of the Umbrian moun- tains were visible in the distance, and we came upon a lake, whose waters were sparkling and bright above a city which they had engulfed; but gener- ally the landscape seemed uninteresting. When we had passed the frontier of Umbria, once of the Papal States, Ave knew that we had entered on the deso- lation of the Campagna. For miles there was noth- ing to relieve the dull, dead monotony. We re- membered that we were rushing over ruined towns, hushed villages, and low-lying fortress towers and battlements, the secrets of which the sullen wastes had hidden for centuries, and would continue to hide for centuries more; unless perchance with the new life-throes throbbing at the heart of the nation, they may be rent open, and the dead forms called forth by the resurrective power of Italian unity. Rome is no longer a dead city, but alive with stirring activities, 64 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. which, reaching out into the Campagna, may one day make it bright with Spring-tide beauty and blooming. As the afternoon wore away, gray mists spread themselves like a veil over the landscape, then deepened into a purplish hue, and finally into dark- ness. We passed a bridge; "Crossing the Tiber," said some one. My heart gave a great leap ! After- ward there were huge walls, outlines of heavy masses, shadowy black shapes, and glimmering lights, and we were in Rome — set down in the Agger of Servius Tullius ! — otherwise the station of the Italian Central Railway. Thence we were driven to our hotel in the Piazza di Spagna. VII. THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. Our first week in the Eternal City was spent in seeking lodgings, that we might settle our small possessions, and take up the routine and pleasures of a sort of home-life before setting ourselves to the work (for work it is, however delightful it may be) of seeking out and studying her manifold wonders. Thus it has come to pass in the fortunate events of things that we are "at home," two doors from Trinita de' Monti, at the top of the Spanish steps, one of the sunniest places in all Eome, — our windows overlook- ing her domes, obelisks, and palaces, the Pincian with its gardens and drives being on one side, and the road leading to the Piazza Barberini on the other. In the house adjoining us, toward the Pin- cian, Poussin once lived, and painted his Arcadian dreams; while nearly opposite, Claude Lorraine studied the marvellous qualities of light, caught the sunshine, and with its tremulous gleams and golden mysteries made his canvas glow. QQ A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. It is evident that, since the change of government, Rome has ceased to be simply an archaeological tomb, the mausoleum of Paganism and the custodian of the traditions of the Romish Church. The subject of to-day's general discussion is not so much the history of her past, as the facts of her present, together with the promises for her future; what the Italian par- liament will do in the matter of the proposed system of bonded warehouses for seaport towns; whether striking capital punishment from the "new code" will have any repressible effect on crime, or other- wise ; whether in the ceremony of marriage, Church or State be the ultimatum of authority; and whether the financial ship, so well set afloat by Minghettis wisdom, will be able to sail steadily through in- creasing troubles. Although gladly acknowledging that universal grat- itude is due to Victor Emmanuel and his Council of State for opening the gates of Rome, making wel- come the blessed light of a few new ideas, and let- ting in the purer air of a few wholesome political truths, still it is not their new city that we have come especially to see, but rather ancient Rome, the city eternal in its vitality as well as its inspirations, the grand "triumphal arch" on the columns and archi- traves of which are sculptured the records of the human race; where artists come to learn the secrets THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 67 imprisoned in marble, and scholars freed from the prosaicness of every-day life renew the enthusiasms of their youth; where, forgetting the disturbing turmoils of the present and the marvellous march of modern progress, one may study the antipodal phases of past history, the rise and fall of republics, the glory of the crowned authority, and the low- fallen, uncrowned fate of Csesars. One morning, while the earth was still radiant with her most alluring charms, we drove to the Piazza de Ara-Coeli, at the foot of the Capitoline, — the Capitoline, with which one is accustomed to associate all that is grandest and most imposing in State ceremonials — the magnificence of kings, the stern majesty of the republic, the combined dig- nity of senatorial conclaves, and the laurel-crowning pageantries that have sealed poets and orators with immortality! We stopped a moment to enjoy the pleasant, warm sunniness of the piazza, also to note the freshness and sweetness of the little garden near by. " It was just here, where the garden begins," remarked the student in history, " that Rienzi fell, overtaken by a vengeful death." Two Egyptian lions, superbly con- fident in animal strength, seemed proud of the guar- dianship entrusted to them, viz. : that of the grand staircase, " La Cordonnata," leading to the square of 68 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the Capitoline. The staircase was built in its present form to accommodate the chariots and horsemen of the triumphal procession of Charles V. at the time of his entry into the city in 1536. At the top a dingy, rain-cracked Castor and Pollux stand on either side, also a Constantine and son, and the trophies ot Marius — but why the latter are so called still puz- zles the antiquary. The first glance was followed by a keen, sore sense of disappointment; — my im- agination with its free fancies and freer exaggera- tions had certainly "played me false." Could it have been in this same little Campidoglio that Brutus harangued "Romans, countrymen, and lovers" after the murder of Caesar? The buildings of Michael Angelo, the museum, the palace of the Conservators, and the present Capitol, no doubt crowd upon it more than did the Pagan temples; but it could hardly ever have had that ampleness of space which our precon- ceived ideas of Roman grandeur demand, whether of Praetors or of Caesars. The equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the centre of the square is all that is not disappointing. To have it there is well worth the once required annual presentation of a bunch of flowers by the senators to the chapter of the Lateran, to whom it belongs. The horse is certainly related to those de- scribed by Homer — mettled, strong, and fleet. Noth- THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 69 ing can be more regal, than the figure and attitude of the emperor. " Imperial but wise, authority sits enthroned " ; while the hand outstretched as if about to speak, gives a semblance of life and action. One forgets all disappointments when he enters the galleries of the museum; his only wish is that he knew more of Homer and Plato, that he might re- construct the life and spirit of the mute marbles, which he is conscious that he sees only in part. Homer and Plato wrote for all nations and all times; besides, art, though flourishing in Rome, was a child of Greek birth. One looks wonderingly at the grand Juno, seemingly from Olympus just descended, and smiles sympathetically with the faun in rosso antico, which holds in each hand a bunch of grapes, display- ing them with a sort of bacchanalian delight. The faun of Praxiteles is of a finer type; it is exceedingly graceful, prone to mirthfulness, and musical, as is seen in the sylvan pipe in the hand — an altogether pleasing embodiment of undebased physical joy. The dying gladiator, however, is the treasure of the mu- seum ; into no other block of marble has such beauty, nobleness and pathos been wrought. One feels in- stantly how real it all is — the slow but sure stealing away of the life, the heroically conquered pain, the unuttered agony of spirit, and the final consenting to the inevitable. We may not weep for him, but 70 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. for wife and children on some distant sunny plain. The seated statue of Agrippina, the wife of German- icus, is one of the most beautiful of the female statues; the head is particularly fine. Among the busts, those that pleased us most — and the originals must have pleased artists well, judging from the great number of representations of them — were Marcus Aurelius, the thoughtful ideal- ist, yet none the less masterly intellectual, and Tra- jan, the grave, proud Spaniard, so grandly imperial and mighty. The bust of Cato is striking, particu- larly so, despite its general narrow-minded expres- sion; the strong will of the old Roman seems strug- gling to free itself from its stony inactivity. The history of the Empire, as also the progress and decay of civilization under the tyranny of the Caesars, may be traced in the individual characteristics represented in the prominent busts of the " Hall of the Emperors." In the court below, through which Ave passed re- turning to the square, a lion-mouthed fountain, pour- ing forth water at the feet of a river god, made pleasant music notwithstanding its ferocious aspect; and near by, in mute attentiveness stood a colossal statue of Hadrian, strayed from the Coelian ; while on all sides were arranged fragments of ancient in- scriptions, bas-reliefs, and sarcophagi. The famous church of Ara-Coeli, on the height at THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 71 the left, occupies doubtless the site of the most magnificent of pagan temples — that of Jupiter Capi- tolinus. The height is as loaded with the memory of historical events, as the church is with relics, mediaeval tombs, faded splendors, and the fragrance of incense. It was in this church that Gibbon's medi- tations had breathed into them the breath of life. As he sat studying the pavement of Opus Alexandri- num, musing on the fate of the mighty fallen, he conceived the idea of writing his "Decline and Fall of Rome." On the opposite side of the square, in a garden overhanging a ridge of cliffs, we looked for the Tarpeian Kock, but in vain — at least we could not find the Rupe Tcuyeia of Miriam and Donatello. As one descends the slope from the Capitol to the Forum, he feels the buried past striving to reveal itself. The remains of the Tabularium — huge blocks, supporting a colonnade with the date b. c. 79 — ex- quisite Ionic columns, remnants of the temple of Saturn, where great Pompey listened to the greater Cicero — the rostrum and re-erected pillars of the school of Zanthus, the half buried stones of the pave- ment of Via Sacra, and the sculptured and inscrip- tioned Arch of Septemus Severus — all come into notice, and set one's thoughts wandering among the entanglements and bewilderments of many successive historic periods. 72 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. At the foot of the slope is the little church which serves as the entrance to the Mamertine Prisons. These prisons are cut in the tufa rock that underlies the Capitoline Hill, and are haunted with the ugliest memories and surmises. It is not needful to recall the authenticated deeds done in them — to mention the Cataline conspirators, Jugurtha, king of Mauri- tania, the victim of Marius, or Simon Bar Gioras, the last of the defenders of Jerusalem — to realize their dread and horrible gloom, it is enough to have felt it even for a moment ! In the lowest dungeon, according to tradition, St. Peter and St. Paul were confined, and from it sent forth their farewell epistles to the churches, viz. : II Peter and II Timothy. This may easily be believed; but that the spring shown was of sudden and miraculous origin, appearing that Peter might have water to baptize the jailer and his household, does not harmonize with the mention of the spring in connection with certain noted prison events which happened prior to the time of St. Peter. Issuing from the darkness of the prisons, how wel- come was the genial sunshine, the clear atmosphere beautifying all forms, the perfect sky with lines of walls, arcades and columns in relief against the pure, heavenly azure ! We continued our way along the Via Sacra, past the deep hollow of the Forum, the lofty, solitary column of Phocas, the disinterred ba- THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 73 silica of Constantine, and the three lovely Corinthian columns which support an entablature richly sculp- tured; these have been more admired and discussed perhaps than any like existing ruin. On our right, gardens were blooming and cypresses waving above the palace graves of the Palatine; on our left, rose the graceful campanile of Santa Francesca and the crumbling walls of the Temple of Venus. Passing beneath the arch of Titus — which the Jew shuns, remembering Jerusalem and the cruel fate of his people — we continued on to the slope beyond, where Horace took his walks, and where the Coliseum with its simple but sublime grandeur bursts upon the vision. The architecture of the Coliseum is purely Eoman, grace and beauty yielding to colossal magnitude and durability of construction. It is the thought of a strong -willed, tyrannical race, that knew neither sentiments of justice nor humanity, the outcome of the triumph of force, and the desire and demand for its universal empire. Within the Coliseum, all that meets the eye proclaims how utter is its deso- lation ; we are hushed into silence in the presence of a solitude so mournful, a stateliness of pomp and pride undone so awful ! The arena is infested with the most frightful associations, if one permits himself to remember — the fury of savage beasts, the terrors 74 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of gladiatorial combats, and the death scenes of martyrs. Looking back through the centuries, he sees the vast amphitheatre filled with an' eager, excited multitude. People, senators, even imperial Caesar, delight in the passionate, relentless strife that surges and tosses itself from one side of the arena to the other, and revel in the final spectacle of agony and death. The golden sand and the carmine with which the ground is strewn conceal not the purple flow; no, it is not the reflection of the Oriental awn- ings drawn to temper the light, but the flow of blood. Not a regret mingles with our thoughts of the Coliseum as a ruin, but rather great thankfulness that it is such, and that it belongs so entirely to an age for twenty centuries dead and buried. "We could not help wishing that all the elements of ferocious- ness had disappeared with the people who once fre- quented it, instead of being transmitted to their de- scendants — the Italians of brigandish mien still seen in the streets. While I sat thus meditating, a pro- cession of Xeapolitan pilgrims entered; as they passed, each kissed the place where the Cross once stood, the memorial of those who suffered martyrdom within the walls of the Coliseum. I hold every per- son's sincerity of faith in respectful consideration, still I could not help thinking what a sudden letting up there must be some day in the progress of purga- THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 75 torial punishments if every kiss is entitled to a hun- dred days' indulgence. The Coliseum is most impressive, seen by moon- light, the noisy day hushed and a solitude solemn and unbroken brooding over all; such moonlights and such solitudes as are known only in Rome! Then one seems to see deeper meanings and read loftier sentiments in the moon-whitened bandlets adorning Doric and Ionic pillars; one perceives into what a vision of beauty the severe grandeur of its huge cornices, stories of heavy arches, and diadem-like crowning porticos can be transformed, and won- ders what strange marvels the throng of pale, uncer- tain shadows would reveal could they but be stayed in their ghostly flight. One night, when we were proving the verities of its moonlight splendors, hav- ing climbed the vine-festooned walls, and through the mysteries of its arches reached the light porticos of the open crown, we heard, borne up through the strange night stillness, the patriotic strains of our " My country, 'tis of -thee, sweet land," etc. Looking down into the moon-filled depths, we saw a party of tourists, and a gendarme apparently protesting against their proceedings; but they were unmoved by either his French or Italian — seeming not to un- derstand either — and continued to fill the vaultless arena with their patriotic melodies; it was evident 76 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. that they had come with the determination to sing the songs of the century-old republic within the owl-haunted solitudes of the great ruin — the despoiled triumph-hall of despots. Before the finale of the sec- ond song, we had recognized the voices, and de- scended to greet friends whom we had thought to be still " moon-shining " about Como and Maggiore. Recent excavations prove that the Coliseum is of a date long anterior to that generally accorded to it, and reveal what materially changes all previous ideas in regard to the history of its construction. The Flavian miracle — the building of the Coliseum in less than three years — becomes a myth, for the divers into this fathomless sea of antiquity (literally "divers" be- cause the substructures are many feet under water) have brought to light individual traces of many periods. It is now believed that the Flavian Em- perors built only the two rows of corridors and the superb northern front. The substructures also ex- plain the arrangements for scenic effects, and the means by which the arena was converted into a sea for naval combats. The excavations, extending to over seventy feet below the present level of the arena, have been filled up, it being thought that they endangered the walls of the structure. VIII. THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER 7 S. The days here are so full of new material for thought that we are overwhelmed, sometimes lost to all consciousness but that of a vague, confused piling up of the ages. It is comforting to believe that, let things mix together as they may for a time, they will somehow finally disentangle themselves and come into order. Those who through engravings, are familiar with the noted structures and monuments of Rome, easily recognizing their forms and uses, look upon the originals, even when seen for the first time, as upon the faces of old friends. But this feeling of familiarity dies out, when one comes to live with them and study them with a certain earnestness and definiteness of purpose ; when, day after day, he finds so much that is new and unlooked for, perceives the thoughts that underlie the manifold forms, and traces the records which, reaching down through successive centuries, unite the past with the present. He soon 78 A NKW TREAD IX AX OLD TRACK. finds that a picture quite unlike his first simple outline-sketch is being indelibly engraved upon his heart, one with a beauty more perfect, of more classic lineaments ami loveliness, with a grandeur infinitely greater, a more lite-like expression of lofty intents ami deeds, and a tiara of immortal splendors of light, learning and triumphs. It is thus that we come to see and know rightly the Pantheon or St. Peter's. The first impression of the former, finding it suddenly in a strange perplex- ity of labyrinthine streets and passages, is that of something simply huge and black. Notwithstanding its majestic pillars, vast portico, and harmonious pro- portions, its imposingness is lost in the crowding of adjoining buildings, and in the lessening of its appar- ent height by the tilling up of the street. Yet, despite these drawbacks, together with Bernini's "asses ears" (otherwise his two steeples) the front is grand; its bronze doors, its faultless Corinthian col- umns, and its inscriptioned entablature, recording the date of the building (b. c. 27 years), declare that the magnificence of the Temple was worthy a nation of conquering sovereigns. Entering the broad, silent doorway, we came into the free space of a wide-reaching, lofty rotundity of walls and dome; beauty, harmony, and vastness un- rolling before us, like the plenitude and oneness of THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 79 the Infinite. Built, as its name indicates, as a tem- ple for all gods, it unwittingly symbolizes our faith in the One Eternal God! From the archways hung pennons of floating particles, made golden splen- dors by the sunlight streaming down upon their delicate transparency; while through the single opening of the dome, we saw heaven's own azure sea, over which sailed fleecy masses of clouds, letting fall, ever and anon, upon the pavement beneath, tremulous, fitful shadows. Directly under the open- ing there is a beautiful, soft, green mossiness, so long have the rains watered and the sun warmed the great seamed blocks of porphyry or granite. The Pantheon — albeit the admiration and inspiration of two thousand centuries — has suffered from the spolia- tions of time and greed — its surface is battered, its Avails cracked and crumbling; it has been robbed of its bronze to adorn the shrine of a new faith, and of its brass and other metal sheathings to make cannon for St. Angelo. Nevertheless, forgetting its present din gin ess and maimedness, the imagination pictures it as it was in the days of the Empire, when its walls were white with polished marble, its beams, tiles and relievos were of lustrous bronze, its massive pilasters glittered with gold, and grand statues of gods stood in niches between superb columns of giallo-antico; when, too, the triumphs of a completed Empire cul- 80 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. minated in its dedication "to all the gods"; the glories of which Imperial festival Virgil has made immortal. This pagan temple was long ago converted into a church, and the niches of the gods filled with Chris- tian altars; still its ancient name has never been lost in its new one — " St. Mary of the Martyrs/' Former- ly the Pope celebrated mass at its chief altar on the day of Pentecost. It was especially well fitted for this feast, as the shower of white rose-leaves symbol- izing the Holy Spirit was sent scattering down through the opening of the dome: thus the people had little difficulty in believing that the descent was directly from heaven, — indeed, it would require at any time but a slight stretch of the imagination to see angel faces hovering in the open space. It is probably due to its consecration to Christian uses that the Pantheon is so well preserved. Several distin- guished Italian artists have been allowed sepulture within this ancient art temple, and among them, one who has made it a place of pilgrimages, one who loved to paint tender, holy Virgins, — Raphael of Ur- bino. According to his desire, the white sculptured Madonna of Lorenzetto is on the altar, beneath which, what was mortal of him reposes. In front of the altar, the pavement had been opened to admit another dweller into the solemn still darkness be- THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 81 low; we wondered who was thought worthy to lie so near the great painter. The Pantheon, in the natural transitions of thought, suggests St. Peter's, the one being the most magnificent of Pagan, and the other of Christian temples. A certain Mr. Scribbler says that it is worth while for all who come to Rome to visit St. Peter's, but he intimates that it is quite un worth while to attempt to say anything about it. I agree with him, but still am tempted into the folly of not following his example, by my enthusiastic though not altogether unqualified admiration of the wonderful structure. Having crossed the Tiber and walked the length of the strada del Borgo Nuova, we came into the Piazza Rustic ucci, from which open the colonnades of Bernini. An inscription on one of the large granite blocks arrested my attention, — "A taber- nacle for a shadow in the daytime from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm and rain." The question at once arose in my mind whether the inscription was intended to refer to the colonnades or the church; if to the latter, it had a spiritual significance, and pointed out the Romish Church as the shelter for all souls,— those fatigued with seeking, those pursued by wrong or adverse fortune, those storm-beaten ones drenched by piti- 82 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. less rains or suffering from inward wounds. If it referred to the colonnades, we found a literal inter- pretation quite pertinent, when oar feet seemed to burn with the white heat of the pavement, and we were nearly blinded by the dazzling glare of the sun, which pours its midday rays directly into the square. In the centre of the piazza is the famous granite obelisk, brought from Heliopolis by Caligula, but placed in its present position by Sixtus V., after it had been duly exorcised of its Paganism, and con- secrated with a cross. On either side of the obelisk a fountain sends up crystal jets into the shadowless space, which, descending in clouds of spray, are broken into varied hues; but in their fall there is little sense of coolness or refreshment. As one approaches St. Peter's, the eye first follows the graceful, crescent-like sweep of the colonnades, then takes a direct line up the magnificent flight of steps, and across the broad level of the platform, till it reaches the facade, when lo, disappointment challenges every expectation ! There is nothing in its columns, statues, and balconies, to indicate its purpose; and be- hind its balustrade loaded with figures, the gigantic dome has dwindled into insignificance. Within the vestibule, colossal statues of Charlemagne and Con- stantine keep royal guard; while the central bronze doors — wherein the martyrdom of saints, and other THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER'S. 83 Christian subjects are bordered with representations of Ganymede, Leda and her Swan, and medallions of Koman Emperors— intimate how Paganism or Idola- try has slidden into the Romish Church. For had she not returned to idols — to the processional pomps and luxury of Pagan sovereigns — before the entrance through the Porta Pia of a power that put a check upon her ambition and achievements? I know that the prosaic present laughs at all ex- pressions of enthusiasm, but even at the risk of a laugh, let me confess my once weakness. There was a time when I could not read Mine, de Stael's de- scription of St. Peter's — of the moment when Corinne and Lord Nelvil stand before the leathern curtain which closes the door-way, — expectancy, awe, and profound religious sentiments filling their hearts and stirring their imaginations, — without sharing their sensations to an overwhelming degree ; it mat- tered not that the story was a fiction, the description was real, and the emotions might be. Now I stood within the same vast, world-renowned temple, before the same heavy curtain ! I had scarcely courage to raise it, so much did I fear another disappointment, — a revelation that would suddenly destroy my pre- built temple, — symbolizing the highest religious faith, foreshadowing help for spiritual wants, and suggest- ing, in the splendor of its hues and the magnificence 84 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of its adornings, that other temple of the Christian's faith and hope — the temple eternal, whose walls are of jasper and chalcedony, whose light is Christ, and whose builder is God. Summoning the courage to pass the doorway, we entered the church; a glowing radiance, piercing the western windows, diffused itself through the lofty, wide-spreading space, de- scended in a shower from the mysterious arches of the resplendent dome, and hung a floating, mist-like veil of sunbeams directly in our pathway. The pavement seemed to stretch itself into a limitless distance, as in a sort of hushed, timid awe, we walked slowly up the grand pillared nave. \Ve passed the deceptive colossal cherubs of the holy- water font, the seated black bronze statue of St. Peter (a converted Pagan with an aureola) and the strikingly eloquent "Memento mori," the sarcopha- gus in which the remains of each Pope await the death of his successor, — yet were conscious of little more than a perplexing, baffling mightiness and magnificence on every hand. A balustrade with eighty golden lamps, always burning, surrounds the opening before the high- altar, beneath which are the crypt and shrine of the Saint. Down there knelt a marble Pius Sixth, while above were kneeling two or three Campagna peasants and a group of weary, dusty pilgrims. The THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 85 sunshine's golden radiance descended like a celestial messenger, wreathing now and then with a halo of light a low-bowed penitential head. Beneath the dome, within the space enclosed by the four hnge pillars that support it, one sees revealed all the unequalled material grandeur and richness of St. Peters. It seems as if the centuries had said to one another, "Let us build the most sumptuous, the most magnificent structure possible to human conception and human skill " ; and all agreeing, they had brought their gold and silver, their mar- ble quarries, their mighty men, their high priests of Art — Bramante, Raphael, and Michael Angelo — and reared this wonderful temple. It is resplendent with light, and profusely enamelled with sculptured devices, precious marbles, and rarest mosaics. Bold arches, gorgeous tombs, splendid chapels, and altars with burning tapers, wall in its aisles, transepts, and tribune; while for a crowning glory, it is canopied with a dome radiating colors of celestial qualities, from which Evangelists, Apostles, and the benig- nant Christus himself looks down. Above the high- altar, the baldacchino, ornamented with gold leafage and flowers, lifts a golden cross into the mid-space of the dome, where, amidst other symbols, it shines as a fixed star. St. Peter's is indeed a wonder, viewed as a mag- 86 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. nificent edifice, as an accumulation of costly and emblazoned splendor, suited to the pomps of royal ceremonies and gay festivals. But whoever looks for any incitement to devotional feelings (other than in bare symbolisms), any significant answer to his hopes or fears, any lifting of the soul and its long- ings heavenward, either in prayer or praise, will look in vain. Architecturally, it is a plagiarism from the basilica of Constantine and the Pantheon. Wholly destitute of any spiritual element, its wings clipped and its powers shackled by its constructive law, it cannot, like the free pointed aerial reaches of the Gothic, soar upward toward the Infinite. It strikes us as a Papal, rather than a Christian monu- ment; the visible triumph of an ambition that in its unwarrantable arrogance dares to invest itself with princely purple, seize upon the so-called delegated authority of St. Peter, and openly set upon its brow a triple diadem. Although the church is a Campo Santo for so many Popes, the two who best deserved a place among its dead, viz., Julius II. and Leo X., are buried elsewhere; one in "San Pietro ad Vincula," the other in "Santa Maria sopra Minerva." Julius laid the foundations of the Basilica; we are also indebted to him for the paintings of the Sistine Chapel, the Loggia of Bra- mante, and the Stanze of Raphael. Leo — a Medician, THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER's. 87 the son of Lorenzo the Magnificent — was likewise a patron of art, distinguished for his taste, learning and munificence; his reign has been styled the "golden age of Italian art and letters." There seems to have been something of kinship between the genius of Julius II. and that of Michael Angelo; they had the same powerful, herculean strength, and the "same unapproachable heroic grandeur of thought and conception. In the Sistine Chapel, we see the work of an Ath- lete — a Titan in art. Struggling with the force of his genuis, Michael Angelo seems to have wandered over the Roman Campagna, or along the Via Appia, or to have haunted the dark, ghostly solitudes of the Roman Forum, where, summoning from their sepulchres the heroes of antiquity, he made captive their mighty spirits, and almost with their living breath animated colossal creations born of his own delirium and despair — gods, yet men. At least, such must haye been the inspirations of the Last Judg- ment. On the walls of the Sistine are Sibyls brought from Delphic caverns and Lybian deserts, from Cu- maen grottoes, and even from distant Persia, all hav- ing the same forceful individuality, the same start- ling intensive reality. It seems as if the philosophies, the prophetic oracles, and the poetry crowning genius of Greece and Rome had arisen from their 88 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. graves, and incarnated themselves in visible forms beneath the strokes of the master's hand. There are prophets, too, from Mount Carmel, from the Groves of Libanns, and from the desert regions beyond the sea; Isaiah, book in hand, looking toward heaven ; Jeremiah in sackcloth, meditating the Lam- entations of the children of Israel, of the captives by the waters of Babylon, and of the Queen — Jeru- salem — left solitary and desolate^ Ezekiel in ecstatic transports speaking his visions, half-visible shapes hovering about him, beating the air; and Zachariah aged and trembling, as if his prophecy had made the present quake with the fore-shadowed fears of the hereafter. I could not help finding a similitude in the smoke stains of incense and tapers, obscuring the sublime images of the walls of the Sistine Chapel, and the many misleading dogmas with which Roman- ism has sought to obscure the simple faith and teachings of Him of Nazareth. Each Pope has en- deavored, it would seem, to outdo his predecessoi ' in compilations as well as inventions, not the least monstrous being Pius Ninth's institutions of the doc trine of the Immaculate Conception, and later on his doctrine of Papal Infallibility. IX. BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. ST. PETER T S IN MONTORIO. To-day I am wondering if those travellers who can come to Rome, take a look, and go away sat- isfied, are not to be envied? There are many of this class here now, judging from those we encounter rushing hither and thither with seeming indifference or restless haste. They are never oppressed by this mighty Past, never lose their reckonings in this forest of pillars, or these fragment-strewn gardens, and are never perplexed by this populace in stone, this army of statues and friezes which puzzle others with such mysterious hints and strange queries. It was fortunate for us that we arrived so much in advance of Cook's legions, for thus in our pioneer- ing in churches and galleries and among monumen- tal antiquities, we have had plenty of elbow-room, if we have not always had all the light we needed. We were also here before the hosts that fly from 90 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the summer "miasmata" to the seaside and the villages of the Alps and Apennines had returned; this gave us an opportunity to see something of the fashionable, pleasure-seeking Roman-world that lives always in the city of the Seven Hills, wintering on the Pincian and summering in the Piazza Colonna. The first few evenings after our arrival, we sat in the piazza with the Romans, listening to the music of the band, and between-whiles to that which was far more charming to our ears, the sweet, liquid lingua of the "bocca Romana"; its tones are deep, full and flowing, like the harmonies to which the spheres are tuned — a "noble speech." In the Piazza Colonna we see the especially characteristic life of the people, for there they are Romans all. There is a trait of dignity and seriousness in it, as there is in every phase of Roman life. Even the peasant from the Campagna walks like a prince, never forgetting the traditions of a noble lineage, and of rulers powerful and all-conquering, nor that Rome was once the heart and life of civilization — the queenly mistress of all the world. This proud loftiness is shadowed, however, by the fact of her after down-fall, and the sad effect of centuries of misgovernment, and conse- quent repression and perversion. Happily there is now over all the glow of a new, present shining — the star that rose radiant above the horizon on a BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 91 certain 20th of September, heralding the consumma- tion of Italian Unity ; when all the people cried " Ev- viva la Roma nuova," and turned from the light and shade of the Past toward the dawn of a golden future. In the black-haired, brilliant-eyed and bright-com- plexioned women of the Piazza Colonna, we looked for the originals of the classic beauties sung by poets, but failed to find them, as also the veritable ones that artists paint. One thing we learned, and that was that the beauty of the women, like everything else Roman — language, literature, and art — sacrifices mere grace and loveliness to strength and majesty. In the elder matrons, we discovered that stately, statuesque queenliness of womanhood, which surely has no rival out of Central Italy, either in form or bearing. There is, too, a certain self-asserting in- dependence, a certain sternness and decision in their faces that harmonizes with their generally broad- shouldered and broad-browed developments, — such materials as Portias and Olympia Maratas were made of. We have seen in some localities, on the other side of the Tiber particularly, faces, or types, that interpret for us the female heads of the Capitol, Julia Pias, Faustinas, and Agrippinas. We saw a beauti- ful woman one evening — beautiful according to our standard — and she was a Roman too, a young prin- cess-born maiden. Her hair was in hue like the 92 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. reddish gold of sunset toned by the shades of a quick coming twilight; had she loosened the massive tresses she would have seemed clothed with a raiment woven of the softest rippling radiance. Her eyes w T ere black — would have been as black as night but that they were luminous with the shining of some within heaven of light — a sort of moonlight filling of tenderness and thoughtfulness; and she had a transparent whiteness of complexion, beneath which blushed a budding rosiness, like the daw r n of a new May morning. In the " grazie " with which she thanked her attendant for a slight service, there was a whole cantanta, dulcis, clara, durahilis — the overflow of a soul full of sunshine and sweetness. We opined that southern sun and blood had sometime wedded a fair northern beauty ; or that one of Titian's pictures had taken on the graces and refinements of Eaphael, and come out to delight us. Apropos of pictures: w^e have seen the Beatrice Cenci of the Barberini gallery, the picture so often copied, yet never reproduced. Time has both injured and improved it — the injury resulting in # a half con- tradictoriness of expression, and the improvement in a peculiar quality of color — both of which effects it is not possible to simulate to any degree of perfect- ness. It is difficult to tell how much a previous knowledge of the so-called history of the picture BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 03 may influence first impressions, but it seems to me one of the loveliest faces ever put on canvas; were I to see it daily for years, it would ever have for me a subtle, irresistible, haunting charm. The strange, inexplicable something ever eluding the grasp, which is so often spoken of, is sufficiently tangible, I think, to be defined: it is the half-shame, half-horror, which conscious innocence feels, knowing that upon it has fallen the stain of suspected guilt. It is evident that the artist, whether Guido or some other, believed the doomed girl to be guiltless, and intended the picture to proclaim his belief. She seems to have turned suddenly, and to be looking at one with an anxious, half asserting look of "not guilty"; this, with the sweetness and exquisite beauty of the face, the soft, tender brown eyes, the conscious helplessness, the patient, pathetic despair, makes it one of the saddest pictures conceivable; yet having once seen it, one returns to it again and again. The half-contradic- toriness is in an expression, or hint, of feeble mind- edness about the mouth (probably caused by the partial breaking of one or two lines); yet before it is fully recognized as such, there is a suggestion of strength, which becomes decided in the upper part of the face, and in the lines and pose of the head. If we may believe the author of " Beatrice Cenci, Storia del Secole XVL" Beatrice desired the 94 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. artist to write "Innocente" in the corner of the picture. It would appear that, even though seem- ingly implicated in the murderous transactions for which so many suffered death, she wished to leave an authorized record of her innocence. We are not sorry to disconnect the worldly, conscienceless Guido with this lovely, world-famous work, as the best au- thority seems to compel us to do ; yet were it his, it would but prove the intense power of Beatrice's beauty and purity, in that it could so inspire such a man. The St. Michael in the church of the Capucini is much more in accordance with Guido's reputation as an artist. The angel has a studied grace and man- nerism quite perfect for mere prettiness; the only stamp of angelhood being in the head, which is beautiful, and in the face, which has something of heavenly purity and serenity. Yet one cannot help thinking that such an exquisite, elegant St. Michael would be sure to avoid coming in contact with an antagonist so essentially coarse and stupid as the prostrate fiend is represented to be. Viewed artisti- cally, as to color and composition, the picture may be fine ; but as an allegory, meant to teach or even suggest, any vital truth, it utterly fails. There is not the slightest hint of the one prominent fact which it should illustrate, viz. : the hand-to-hand conflict ever waging between the angel and demon BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 95 in the human heart; yet what this struggle is, no one could know better than did Guido himself. Yesterday we spent on the other side of the Tiber, going first to the Palazzo Corsini, one of the stateliest and handsomest palaces in Rome. It was here that the brave Caterina Sforza found refuge, and that Michael Angelo visited the poet, Cardinal di St. Geor- gio; even Erasmus found hospitable welcome within its walls; of the "confabulations mellifluse" of the palace, he makes appreciative mention. The grand staircase is imposing in space and general form, but in ornamentation there is only a suggestion of the magnificence to which it leads. Its ascent is broken by a half-way landing, where, through a window, one gets a view of the gardens, amid whose dark ilexes and cypresses gleam the white of marble statues and the silver spray of fountains; where, too, there are laurels and dwarfed palm-trees and a few lingering roses. In the picture gallery we found the usual variety of Holy Families and Madonnas, Saints and Magdalens. There are several Ecce Homos, and among them Guercino's — by connoisseurs considered a masterpiece. Its great power lies in the expression of intense human suffering — the humanity of the Son forsaken by the Father. Guido's "Ecce Homo," in the same room, is quite unlike; there is the same suffering, but it is supported by the manifest pres- 96 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ehce of the God-like. All material representations of Christ, whether of His Passion or otherwise, fall so far short of our ideal conceptions of Him, that we take very little interest in them. In the fourth room, we found Guido's " Daughter of Herodias," which, though not a pleasing subject, is, as a picture, re- markable; the color is rich, the action of the figures natural, and the expression of the whole vigorous and strong. In the next room died Queen Chris- tina, the apostate daughter of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden ; a card attached to one of the painted pillars informs us that she occupied the palace during her residence in Rome, and died there in 1680. All her famous collections have been scattered; herCorreg- gios are to be found in Paris and St. Petersburg, in London and in Dresden; her choicest MSS. are pre- served in the Vatican. It must be acknowledged that she made her favorite pursuit something more than a pastime, elevating it into importance as the handmaid of learning and art. Among the portraits of the gallery, one by Titian of Alexander Farnese interested us quite as much for the subject as the artist. The striking traits of Alexander's character are seen in the portrait — sagacity, fortitude, and possible self-sacrifice. We cannot but adiyire him as the most accomplished general of the sixteenth century, although snperstitiously the slave and tool BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 97 of Philip II., prostituting to him all his splendid gifts. There are several paintings on wood by Fra Angelico, the artist born a saint. The principal one is a Last Judgment, on the sides of which are panels repre- senting the descent of the Holy Ghost and ascen- sion of the Virgin. The panels have much richness of color, and some beauty of outline, but their most striking quality is purity of tone and expression; together with a kind of celestial radiance seeming to emanate from within, and felt rather than seen, like the raptures of the beatified. Fra Angelico doubtless painted directly from the ecstacies and inspirations of his own spiritual nature, and herein is the key to his successes and his failures. I find that my first impressions of pictures do not always hold, and it may be so with the Carlo Dolci Madonna. It is kept in a glass case, as the treasure of the gallery, but to me it did not seem wonderful in anything except the fineness of the surface finish; in everything else 1 should call it weak and sentimental. Descending to the Court, a custodian in the showy Corsini livery offered to admit us to the gardens, but we declined, having determined to spend an hour in the Farnesina and then walk up the slope of the Janiculum. To our great disappointment we found the Farnesina closed, and further learned that it was open only on Sundays, so we could not hope 98 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. to see Eaphael's Galatea, and the other frescoes in the palace. It was built by Agostino Chigi, an opu- lent banker, who was a patron of letters and art. A copy of Pindar was printed in the palace under his eye in 1515, by a Venetian typographer. It is said that Eaphael first saw the Fornarina while at work in the Farnesina. The palace was, and is still, sur- rounded by a high wall; close to this wall was the baker's shop where La Bella Fornarina lived. A shop was pointed out to us as being the very one, and it is still used as a bakery. We saw a " fornarina " standing in the doorway, but could not by any pro- cess of idealization imagine that she resembled the one Eaphael loved and painted. Passing the " Porta Settimiana," we followed the "via delle Fornaci" up the hill. We found it a long and fatiguing way — fatiguing to both mind and body, — it being the same that once trembled beneath the tramp of the Goths, Visi and Ostro — leading from what was once the famous gardens of Julius Caesar to the distant summit from which descended the prophetic eagle of Tarquin; and whence Lars Por- sena, having been long encamped there, looking down upon the city, retired, when he had seen what Eomans could endure. A later and more sor- rowful memory is connected with the open space beyond the summit. There, in the trenches where BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 99 they had laid down to rest, the little army of Lorn bards under Garibaldi was murdered in 1849. The via delle Fornaci leads into a fine carriage- road, built within a few years; the views from any point of it are magnificent. We continued our way up the hill till we reached the Fontana Paulina, which in its name holds a double memory, viz. : that of Fontana the architect, and of Paul V., by whom it was built. It is a handsome structure, the front ele- vated like the facade of a church, and having six fine granite columns, with intervening niches intended for statues. The water of the fountain is brought by an aqueduct from Lake Bracciano, thirty-five miles distant; and after serving the purposes of the foun- tain, is made further useful in turning some flour mills near the Tiber. Around the immense basin, into which the water falls, were gathered a dozen or more of washerwomen with their babes and bun- dles. Nothing could be more picturesque than this group, — so admirable a composition for a sketching tourist, that Bella at once transferred it to her "book." The inhabitants of Trastevere claim to be the direct de- scendants of the ancient Romans, and if the most pow- erful physiques, the most piercingly brilliant eyes, the greatest wealth of black locks, the richest bronziness of complexion, and the strongest, most emphatic dia- lect, are any proof, they can make good their claim. 100 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. The modern gate, near the fountain, was built by the present Pope, to replace the one destroyed by the French in 1849. It was just without the old gate- way that Narses, after the defeat of Totila, was met by the then reigning Pope and Cardinals, and thence conducted in triumph to St. Peter's. Retracing our steps, in order to reach St. Peter's in Montorio, we encountered the hosts of beggars that infest the hill; all are now ticketed, and if we may believe their cards, each is a worthy object of charity. They seemed unusually enterprising, pursuing us even to the church steps, where, a Irate appearing, they presently dispersed. The church and convent oc- cupy the supposed site of the Crucifixion of St. Peter. The tribune and steeple, as also the west wing of the convent, were entirely destroyed during the siege of 1819. One of the chapels, belonging to the Barberini, contains some once wonderful paint- ings by Piombo, viz. : the Scourging of Christ and a Transfiguration; but on account of the inherent dis- abilities of the process — oil on stone — they have be- come so black that their outlines are scarcely trace- able. Raphael's Transfiguration was painted for the high altar of the church, and was kept here till it was carried off to Paris; fortunately, after its return, it was retained at the Vatican, otherwise it would have been destroyed with the tribune. Before the st. peter's in montorio. 101 high altar the ill-fated Beatrice Cenci was buried, but with no monument, not so much as a mark in the pavement, to designate the spot. In the court of the Convent is Bramante's " Tempietto," a circular building, with a dome resting on sixteen Doric col- umns, nothing more architecturally perfect could be conceived. The upper part is used as a chapel, in the crypt is shown the very place where St. Peter's cross stood. We were favored with a few grains of sand scooped out of the hole, to keep as a relic. As I took mine, I wanted to ask the monk if the hole was not occasionally refilled; because it was not large — and how many bushels of sand must have been carried away! Standing before the little temple, one cannot help comparing Bramante and Michael Angelo as archi- tects, and awarding to Bramante the greater ex- cellence. It is in Michael Angelo's statues that we see and feel the solitary, unapproachable sublimity of his genius; he was essentially a sculptor, and his power, however manifested, never lost this one distinguishing and preeminent characteristic; it is the statuesque in his fresco-figures, even, that makes them so colossally grand, both in action and pose. When we recall the fact that his creations never seem so mighty, as when seen beneath the magnificent arches of Bramante, we can but think with regret, 102 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. liow much the world has lost because they could not work together, each looking upon the other as a colaborer in the same - great enterprise. It is a thousand pities that Bramante's jealousy should have stood in the way of such a possibility. At the opportune moment, just at sunset, we came out into the open piazza in front of the church, where a scene of unrivalled beauty and indescribable splen- dor meets the eye. It embraces not only the city with its grand architectural features, glories of bronze and stone, domed and pinnacled, the Cam- pagna with its brown, rusty-coated cypresses, and long spirit-fingered palm trees, making somber, sentinel-like shadows, and the Tiber with its broad curves and handsome bridges, embracing the feet of the Janiculum; but also a long line of moun- tain ranges, reaching from Soracte to the further Alban hills — a line of classical sites aud towns — all lighted up by the warm farewell glow of the departing sun. We lingered there till the sounds of the sweet Ave Maria of the Convent, recalled our wandering thoughts, and we perceived that daylight would soon be lost in the gray n ess of coming night. We made haste to reach the bot- tom of the hill, where we found a cab and were soon on our way home. X. ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. On the 22d of November we attended the Feast of St. Cecilia in the church bnilt, according to tra dition, on the site of her house in the Trastevere. It is a locality usually weighted with silence and melancholy, but on this occasion bright and ani- mated as possible. The festa decorations — arches garlanded with paper flowers, fluted columns of red and yellow cotton, and gay canopies and hang- ings bordered with something other than gold — were lighted up by a broad in-pour of sunshine, which converted them into seeming marvels of richness and splendor. The altar was magnificent with its costly service of gold and silver, and its one hun- dred wax candles all ablaze! Nearly as many sil- ver lamps encircled the railed-off space of the shrine, their rays softening and making wonder- fully beautiful the sculptured image of the Saint 104 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. lying within; which represents her, according to Maderno, the artist, as she was when found in her tomb. On the fore-finger of the statue's left hand was an immense diamond ring, said to be the vo- tive offering of a certain French lady of distinc- tion. We were told that the offerings at this fes- tival often amounted to many thousands of dollars. At the moment when the organ sounded, a Car- dinal with several attending priests entered, and the services commenced. I. heard only the music, which sometimes came in sweet, flute-like notes, such as hush all disturbing thoughts, and hold the emotions suspended in a delicious joy-dream; some- times in low plaintive strains like the pleadings of a soul in distress and conscious helplessness ; and then in volumes of loud and rapturous praise, which, as they rolled forth, filling every space, made even the vaulted roof tremble with their soaring, swelling vi- brations. When the services were concluded, and the audience mostly dispersed, the sacristan ad- mitted us within the enclosure of the shrine, that we might see the statue to better advantage. A gold band encircles the throat, as if intended to hide a wound, thus indicating the manner of the Saint's death. The sacristan informed us that while on earth she sang with such sweetness that the angels came down from heaven to listen to her; ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. 105 and that even now, if one sits by her shrine dur- ing the night-time, he will hear the most heavenly music. On Thanksgiving morning we attended service in St. Paul's — the American Church. It was pleas- ant to think that the dear people at home were reading the same Liturgy, and singing the same songs of praise. After the service we had a little feast of our own — the "menu" and manner thereof being as nearly as possible after the old New Eng- land fashion, the spirit of merry-making not being wanting. On Christmas Eve, or rather "very early Christmas morning," the Pastorella, or Shepherd's Song, was to be sung in the Choir Chapel of St. Peter's, and al- though during the previous week we had attended one or two concerts, and also the " Vesper Musicals " at St. Silvestro, we determined to avail ourselves of this opportunity to hear the Pope's Choir. We set out a little before the appointed hour. The air was chilly, but the night had a tranquil, serene magnificence; the milky- way unrolled its broad belt of splendor, and the moon her soft, illuminating glory. Columns and monuments threw their sen- tinel-like shadows athwart our way, and palaces, like spectral giants, challenged our advance. There was a hush — a silence — over all; not a sound save that 106 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of our carriage wheels on the pavement, or the murmur of falling water as we passed in the near neighborhood of some fountain. In the open square, leading to the bridge of Saint Angelo, there was an unobstructed flood of moonshine ; — it sought and pen- etrated every nook and corner, transforming broken cornices, projecting balconies, dilapidated palaces, and crazy, weather-worn barracks, into images of beauty. Even the angels and apostles of the bridge, in their softened, white shining, became glorified semblances of the heavenly ones — those who walk in the pure radiance of the light, — "that Light which lighteth every one that cometh into the world." Moon -rays played upon the waters of the Tiber, and crept over garden walls, mingling with the mysteries of the perfumes and blossoms. On the other side of the river rose the castle of Saint Angelo — built for a tomb, but changed into a fortress — all its thousand wounds of siege and battle healed — stones joined to stones, and columned porticos re -reared and linked together by silver bands — the bronzed winged- angel of the summit seeming in truth the celestial messenger of St. Gregory's vision, who, sheathing his sword, thereby promised the staying of the plague. As we drove into the square of St. Peter's — so shut in, and darkened by the shadows of its tall structures — the bell in the tower rang out on the still night ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETER's. 107 air. The notes were not a merry Christmas peal, but slow and solemn, like the prelude of a grand anthem, or the first drum-beats announcing some stately cere- monial. The procession, accompanying the Cardinal who was to celebrate Mass, was passing through the vestibule into the church. The silent, and apparently deserted, street had quite misled us; for although early enough for the services, we were not early enough to get places within the chapel. It was packed to its utmost ca- pacity, as was also all the available space in front of it. However, before the singing of the Pastorella commenced, we succeeded in getting in such proxim- ity as to be able to see and hear the singers. No doubt externals — the hour, the place, the as- sembled expectant crowd, the pomp of the ceremonies — had something to do with the effect and felt significance of the music; certainly it produced a profound and never-to-be-forgotten impression. One had no desire, if he had the ability, to criticise the singing, or to think of the details or style of the com- position. If some of the voices were old and time- worn, I did not know it. I only knew that the Pastorella was the divinest music that I had ever heard. Never did the sweet spirit of song seem to take such a distinct and individual form, as, following the theme, I seemed to emerge from the shadows 108 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of the sterile regions of the sea into the clear, bright light of the star-illumined heavens, and to journey onward in solos and choruses, with the questioning "Wise Men," and the attending choir of celestial voices, — on, to the grand, culminating finale: "And the star came and stood over where the young child lay." One could almost think he heard the rustle of angel-wings as they hovered over the place, or hurried down to earth, bearing the glad tidings which should be unto all people — " Unto you is born a Saviour which is Christ the Lord." The singing of the Pastorella lasted till nearly four o'clock, by which time the vast throng of people had thinned out somewhat, to our great comfort, giving us a little more breathing space and elbow room. We were nearly exhausted, not having been able to get so much as a leaning place during the whole time, and not daring to use our camp-stools, because of the danger of being overborne and trodden under foot; but as the Cardinal, acting as the Pope's proxy, was to receive the Communion, we desired to witness the ceremony, and so remained till the close of the services. Hoping to get a moment's rest, and not suspecting that my garments would desecrate the foot-stairs of the raised platform whereon sat the chapter of St. Peter's, I ventured to sit down on the lowest step; ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. 109 but I was no sooner down than the guard, the man in the yellow and scarlet, made a rush at me, and with that peculiar, sharp, penetrative whisper that may be heard by everybody, projected into my as- tonished ear, " II est defendu." Of course I got up at once, and in some perplexity, not knowing exactly what to do; but seeing a vacant candelabra post, I betook myself to that, notwithstanding the candles were raining a shower of spermaceti, the full bene- fit of which 1 received with unexampled resig- nation. When the moment arrived for the continuance of the services which had been interrupted for the re- tiring of the choir, the Cardinal was relieved of his colored vestments, and robed in others of pure white ■ — white cashmere and silk; white slippers were put on his feet, and white gloves on his hands. The priest who intoned this part of the service must have been nearly eighty years of age. Naturally it is to be inferred that his voice was not the freshest nor the fullest; but there was something in the worn but by no means broken tones, and the monotonous chant, which sent a sort of unearthly thrill through one. It was as if one had been made to look down upon the valley and the shadow of death, and into the land on the further shore whence came the sound of music, like the singing of psalms, and the giving 110 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of thanks, such as they render, who, having won theii crowns, joyfully lay them at the feet of the Shining Presence. When the services were over, finding it would soon be daybreak, we decided to tarry and, from the steps of the church, see the sun rise. The peo- ple had mostly dispersed; only a group or two, possessed of the same mind as ourselves, remained, with here and there a solitary wanderer, waiting — perhaps with an unwonted burden — to be the first at the confessional. It was still midnight dark — that " darkest just before day." There were no lights, save the faint, trembling flames of the tall wax candles set at long intervals upon the pavement. A feeling of the in- finite in all its sublimity and solemnity, pervaded the whole vast interior — the deep and gloomy spaces filled with transient, flitting shadows; the grand im- ages, the stately forms, dimly discernible, which re- ceded and disappeared in a distant, impenetrable beyond. The mysterious, uncertain undulations of light and darkness seemed somewhat akin to phases of spiritual life — the uncertainties, the self-question- ings of the soul, seeking truth and righteousness; the soul, standing in the presence of Him whose face is as the sun, but whose light, to it, is veiled for a season. The heart, enlarged and made tender ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. Ill in its love, involuntarily lifted itself in prayer to the loving, the universal Father, for all needy, seeking, suffering souls. But we had not long to wander in the grand, solemn stillness of this Cathedral night. The dome, towering far into the ether vault, caught the first gleam of the approaching sunrise, and thus illu- mined, revealed its gold and violet, its crimsons and its azures. We hastened to the steps. As yet there was no sign upon the line of the horizon, un- less it was a strange, faint, undefined purple. There was a moment of waiting : and then, not slowly, but suddenly, a crimson thread separated the celestial and the terrestial; soon after, the whole east was bril- liant — one grand and gorgeous illumination. Soracte gleamed afar with its coronet of flaming light; the cypresses and pines of the Pincian put off their gloom; and the tall Egyptian obelisk, for the time, exchanged its cold, gray white for a roseate bloom. As onward with rapid strides came the dawning day, the glorious King ! his crimson splendors, changed by the sky's elysian blue, became luminous and golden. The distant Campagna awoke at the warm touch — the dazzling, celestial light — awoke smiling and rejoicing in a fresh, resplendent beauty. An instant more, and the whole city was bathed in the auroral magnificence. The outlines of ancient walls, 112 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the temples of stone, marble palaces, cross-tipped spires, machicolated towers, bronze domes, monu- ments and ruins — all, were re-created in the baptis- mal glow of the new-made morning. Even the place where we stood shared in the marvellous trans- formation; and we, pilgrims from the sunset, had, from the steps of St. Peter's, seen the sunrise ! XI. FROM ROME TO PALERMO. While the festivities with which the New Year had sought to enliven the sombre gravity of the seven-hilled city were yet at their gayest, we, feel- ing the south wind wooing us with its gentle breath, turned our faces toward the proposed limit of our wanderings — this Bella Isola, this land steeped in the golden sunshine. We found the road from Eome to Naples, by Velletri, San Germano and Capua, not only wonder- fully beautiful, but a via along which, like un- crowned kings, sit ancient sites and cities jealously guarding the past. Leaving Rome by the Porta San Lorenzo, one sees first the long line of the Acqua Felice in an atmos- phere of soft grayish purple, and soon after the broken, ivy-clad monuments and sunken, grass-grown tombs of the Via Appia; while in the distance, against the deep blue of the sky, rise the snowy peaks of 114 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the Sabine and Alban hills, the slopes of the latter whitened by the villas and spires of Frescati. A little further, and the solitary walls of a monastery look out from the silence and mists above Monte Cavo; and beyond, above sloping vineyards and fields of winter-pale greens and dusky browns, glitter the turrets and towers of Castel Grandolfo. Not long after, we have a glimpse of Albano and Ariccia, clasping hands by means of an arched viaduct; then, Monte Circello, shiningly " clothed upon " with sun- beams, rises abruptly from the sea, and we fancy that we discover along the coast fishing-boats; not touching at the island of Circe as did the ships of Ulysses, but floating dreamily southward. Under the shadows of mountains, amid dark chestnuts and ilexes, appears Chevita Lavhjna (in guidebooks con- founded with the Lavinium of iEneas), and Velletri formerly of brigand-fame, but now noted for its wine ; and then we see Valmontone on a gloomy isolated volcanic peak. Passing between lofty summits, a halt is soon made at the foot of the chalky, sun- baked Volscian mountains, with forests so solitary and awful, and beyond which we know the broad plain of the Pontine Marshes stretches its tempting but fatal beauty to the sea; while through its lonely pines and beeches the winds sound their notes of lamentation. The road enters the well cultivated FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 115 valley of the Sacco, and there among the Hernician hills are Veroli, Anagni, and Ferentino, with the mists and myths of their past clinging to them; among which we should lose ourselves, but that our attention is soon called to the beauty of Frosi- none on a distant height, bathed in a light of translucent silver-gray, and to Ceccano which lies on the slope of a mountain in the midst of vines and olive trees, its deeper colors lost in lighter hues, as its streets climb higher and higher into the aerial blue. There is no river scenery richer or lovelier than that of Italy, at least one thinks so as he crosses the bright, sunny-shored Liris, and enters the so-called "Happy Valley" through which it flows; a happy valley, in that its inhabitants — thanks to the enter- prising and inventive genius which has utilized its resources — are unusually prosperous. Here we were so fortunate as to see something of the remarkable and much praised beauty of the mountain peasants; at one of the stations were several who had come down from Sora. They were certainly very hand- some, both the men and the women being tall and strikingly well formed, with magnificent black eyes, strongly marked features, and rich olive complexions. The costume worn by the women is particularly pic- turesque, its bright colors effectively enhancing the 116 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. dark splendors of their many charms. The head is covered Avith a white fringed cloth, hanging down upon the neck like a veil; over the white loosely plaited chemisette is worn a scarlet bodice, and the skirt, which is short, is of some dark color, usually red or blue bordered with yellow. The long gold chains around the neck, and the heavy, gold earrings with pendants, which the married women wear, re- semble those sometimes represented in Greek sculp- ture. The young girls wear coral chains, wound many times around their neck, and falling down over the white chemisette, which have a beautiful effect; their other ornaments are usually also of coral, but set in gold. One of the handsomest ones, who stood with her foot resting on a rude stone, a water jug balanced on her knee, looked as if she was pos- ing purposely that we might see what a splendid picture she would make. Bella, who always has her sketch-book at hand, sprang out of the carriage, hoping to make a "memorandum," but her efforts were futile, for she at once encountered such a barricade of outstretched hands, and such a storm of "uno biocco" and "mezzo biocco," that she was forced to return. And here was a puzzle for us, one that our small knowledge of political economy could not solve. In a valley where there are so many mills, the owners of which are said to have FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 117 such care for the interests of the employe, and where the people are reputed to be generally so thriving, how could it happen that there should be such a crowd of beggars? and how could a valley where beggary so abounds be called "happy"? We put the queries that were perplexing us to one of our fellow travellers, an Italian. "The beggars! " he exclaimed, "why they are a happy lot! they prefer standing there in the sun to working in the mills. The beggars do not belong to the valley, but swarm here from the mountains because the line of the railway offers the best field for their operations; begging is their trade." That begging is a prominent branch of Italian industry, Ave had found out practically before ; but not that it is a recognized one, or that those who follow it are a "happy lot." The latter assertion, however, appeared to find a moiety of proof in a little boy who sat on the steps of the station, holding out his hand to every one, and asking in most pitiful tones for "un poco" in the name of the Virgin "bellissima, carissima"; but occasionally for- getting himself, and letting the two adjectives escape him in unmistakable, merry sing-song. There was roguishness evidently on a frolic beneath the long- drawn, sad face, which seemed in imminent likeli- hood of getting the better of the would-be pitifulness and sadness. He was not only exceedingly beautiful 118 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. but very picturesque, with his bare feet, coat and trousers hanging in fringed tatters about him, and his remnant of a hat stuck on one side of his head as only a mountain breeze could have done it. Every one Avas anxious to give him something, and did, I think, although there was nothing in his manner to indicate that he had been more favored than others: one would suppose, to look at him, that he had re- ceived no more than his dues. We speculated on what his future might be, for there was surely the making of something out of the common way in him — would he become a statesman or a brigand? — quite probably the latter. Here in this valley one has no longer the violet- tinted Campagna; but in the background are the snow-covered peaks of the Abruzzi; and the beauty of the hills, which wall in the roadway, varied in character and outlines, and changing with every change of light or point of view, offers to the eye an exhaustless feast of delights. The town of Aquino, gay and bright on a mountain stream, does not forget that it has the honor of having been the birthplace of the satirist Juvenal, and of Thomas Aquinas; for at the station we were recommended to stop and make a pilgrimage to the town and the neighboring castle of Rocca Secca; the disinterested cicerone waiting there for our especial benefit, assur- FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 119 ing us that no excursion would so well repay the trouble. We did not happen to believe him, but if at San Germano some one had told us the same about that and Monte Cassino we should have been more credulous ; as it was, the temptation to stop at San Germano was almost irresistible. While yet afar off, one sees the famous old Benedictine Convent of Monte Cassino, set high on a rocky peak of the Sam- nite hills, and looking as if it were the summit of the rock itself cut into architectural forms and adapted for habitation. There, on that peaceful, aerial height, Benedict, the Apostle of the mountains, fleeing, first from Rome and afterward from Subiacco, fixed the standard of the imperilled faith — the faith of the Cross — and founded a home to which scores of the faithful flocked. There they watched and waited with untiring zeal and unchanging love while the storm of battle raged on the plains — (Greeks, Van- dals, and Goths, each in turn striving for the empire) — watched and waited until on the Volturno at their feet, Narses was finally victorious over Teias, and with his legions returned in triumph to Rome. The Convent of Monte Cassino is one of the oldest and most distinguished seats of learning in all Italy; within its walls the arts and sciences have received fostering care, both being held as solemn trusts committed to its keeping. In its many-volumed 120 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. library are stored the richest treasures of monastic industry, not the least of which are its many rare manuscripts. The brothers of Monte Cassino have always been given to more than ordinary freedom of thought and research, and have entered, it is said, sympathetically into every movement tending toward Italian unity; certain it is that they suffered in no wise during the storm that raged against Convent- ual institutions, very soon after Victor Emmanuel's occupation. Most of this we learned from one of the confraternity who came into our carriage at Tsolette. The crenellated towers of the Castle of Rocca Janula, half way up the mountain, overlook the town of San Germano lying at the foot, through which flows a bright limpid stream, with irregular flowery banks. The water is always low at this season ; so just above the bridge which we crossed, mid-stream, stood two washerwomen plying the skill of their craft, their improvised washboards being a pile of stones on which they "pounded out" their clothes. It was the first time we had seen the freedom of a whole river used as a washtub. In a spectacular way, the scene was not unpicturesque. The women stood ankle deep in the water, with their bright scarlet aprons thrown over their shoulders and hanging down like drapery, their arms bare, the sleeves of their chemisettes turned up and fastened to the FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 121 shoulder-straps of their black bodices, and their white headdresses folded so as to cover only the top of the head, beneath which were heavy black locks, great dark eyes, and handsome faces — the Roman type quite lost in the Grecian. On a projection of the shore, shaded by an immense chestnut, played their four or five half-clad children — bright, beau- tiful, laughing life-bits in the landscape. But what a variety of lights and shades, and tones and color, was displayed — the river full of reflected forms; the soft green foliage of the banks, now and then a bit silver-tinted by the. stirring of a breeze; the in- describable azure of the atmosphere ; and the delicious purple of the ravines with which the sides of the mountains were covered! Above the summits of the mountains rain-clouds were gathering, and as we looked back, after leaving the town, we saw the sunlight yielding to the weird shadows of dark, heavy masses rising up behind the Samnites. First the Convent, then the Castle, and finally the town, disappeared, a gray vail shutting out all from sight. We made good speed, yet did not out-travel the rain till after passing Capua, reaching Naples only in time to be transferred to the steamer Calabria, which was to sail at ten o'clock for Palermo. From the deck of the steamer we had our first view of the child of Parthenope, bathed in a glitter of moonlight. 122 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Softly-outlined heights rose above it, with great stars about their heads; for the moon had come in queenly state, a host of celestial ones attending her. -The waters of the bay had a surface of perfect calm, the foamy line where they laved the shore looking like a pearl-beaded girdle, above which reached out the white arms of the city, sparkling with a thousand jewel-like lights. Vesuvius rose darkly from the plain, its sometimes fiery crest wreathed with float- ing clouds. In the distance glimmered the beacon- fires of Procida and Ischia — the former a white cres- cent shape, lying low upon the water; the latter bolder, more superb, with gleaming castle turrets and the shadowy forms of olive groves and dark tufa crags clustered about the spent craters of Epomeo. Ischia is sacred to the memory of two heroic women — Constanza, the sister of the Marquis of Pescara, and Vittoria Colonna, his wife. To-day, however, one forgets the Marchesa of Pescara in the noble, devoted friend of Michael Angelo. Dreaming of Elysium by moonlight, we sailed over the mirror- like Tyrrhenian waters, stirred to a strange beauty by the breath of the night and the voice of legends from the shore; past the high- walled cape of Minerva, whence float the echoes of Odyssean melodies; under huge, frowning Caprian rocks; and out of both Elysium and moonlight, into the open sea. FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 123 Every one has heard of the treacherousness of the Mediterranean; we now know something about it by personal experience. Despite the fairest prom- ises, a few moments after we had passed the last land-point, our ship was seized by some all-monster power, and beaten about with continually increasing fury, until every plank and beam in her trembled and shrieked as if in agony. All movable things took wings, and went flying about in the most reckless, turbulent disorder possible — not even we ourselves could stay as we were put. We watched for an opportunity to get to our berths, which were in the ladies' cabin, but we were no sooner settled in them than a great roll — leap rather — of the ship unceremoniously ejected us. We were forced to keep to the cabin floor, whither we had been cast, and where were already several of our agonized com- panions — the miseries of seasickness temporarily mastering the frenzies of terror. It could not long be concealed that our condition was critical, to say the least. Our boat was small, and not staunch cer- tainly, if as old as it was reported to be; and we were in the midst of a furious gale, with small chance of any change till we should come into the shelter of the Lipari islands. It was a fearful night;, only those who have had like experiences can under- stand all its terribleness. Yet it was not unrelieved 124 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. by touches of the comic and the pathetic: — a young Neapolitan mother begged me to loosen from her neck a chain, to which was attached a small pic- ture of the Virgin, and fasten it around her baby's ; explaining that she wanted "the baby saved if she was not, for Gaitano had never seen it," — Gaitano being her husband, a militaire stationed at Paler- mo, whither she was going to join him. One of my nearest neighbors, who, not satisfied with what the ship was doing, had been continually bobbing up and down on her own account, suddenly clutched me by the arm, and cried out, "Do ask the Captain if there are lightning-rods on the masts and chim- neys"! A moment after, a water-jug, loosened from its fastenings, took to its own devices, and career- ing riotously down through the cabin, came into damaging contact with the post against which the woman was leaning. A ray of light dawned upon my comprehension; some like contact of the wo- man's head with the heavy objects plunging about, had caused her to see a flash of something — hence her anxiety about "lightning-rods"! At last, after long hours of anxious watching and waiting, daylight appeared, and just discernible in the southeast were the Lipari islands. Soon the storm abated somewhat, but not till late in the day did we succeed in making, and getting into, FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 125 the wished-for harbor. As soon as we were in, we saw the genial face of Professor ,S ■ looking up from the sea of small boats in which we were seemingly casting anchor. He brought us at once to this place, prepared for us in the Piazza Oli- vuzza, just outside the Porta Macqueda, which is nearly as paradisaical a spot as one can conceive of while "here below." On our mantelpiece are exquisite vases in which are roses, large purple violets, and white blossoms with starry centres; on the table is an antique fruiterie, just ripened oranges filling it with a golden shining. One of our win- dows looks into a garden where there are oleanders red with flame, and magnolias that will erelong have great white flowers, such as we have in our South at home. At dinner, the waiter, stepping to one of the doors of the salle-a-manger (which is on the ground floor), plucked from a tree within sight lemons for our sardines — fresh sardines, and lemons just from the tree! what a delectable crowning of delights ! XII. PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. The days since our arrival in this land of perpetual summer, have been like one long blissful dream — days steeped in "idle ecstasy." It is no wonder that the island was a fairy-land to the ancients, and that they peopled it with races answering to its peculiar poetic influences. According to local legends, here were reared the health-giving Artemis, Athena, the guardian of warm springs, and the flower-crowned Persephone ; and they loved, so says the legend, more than all else, these blooming plains breathing of violets and roses, and these smiling fields loaded at harvest-tide with gifts from the golden handed Ceres. The goddess, grateful for the finding of her long-lost daughter, made the island the object of her especial care. She did not foresee, I suspect, that the time would come, when the islanders would send her gifts of wheat and corn to other countries, and for their own use import inferior qualities. PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 127 Nothing here is touched with melancholy, not even the ruins; bright ivies wander over them at will, and clusters of flowers blossom out of the crevices. And there are no days all sombre; in our experience, no days without sunshine, not even during what is called the rainy season. The forces of nature act with a sort of volcanic haste, so that the heralds of a rain storm are swift- winged messengers; there is a sudden gathering of clouds about the summit of Monte Cuccio — grand cloud forms, such as are made by stormy seas and mountain fires — and at once the rain is upon us, descending not gently, but in tor- rents. Nevertheless, in a few moments after, it has ceased, the sun shines as genial and bright as if clouds and rain were unknown; and one may go wherever he likes — to stroll in the English Gardens, or sit under the trees in the park on the other side of the piazza. It is not customary for ladies to walk in the public parks, or the streets either, for that matter, unattended; so we appreciated the kindness of Prof. S , in procuring for us the keys of a pri- vate park near by, where we walk all day long and never meet a soul. The park belongs to Prince T , who, having a Hesse Darmstadt lady for wife, spends much of his time in Germany; other- wise we should not have his beautiful park to our- selves. There is scarcely a flower native to the 128 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. island that is not to be found here, as well as many brought from distant climes. Lemon trees mingle their foliage with the brightness of the mulberry and the dark luster of the pomegranate, while just now the orange trees have the beauty of both blos- som and fruit. Unlike the first dwellers in Para- dise, of the fruit we may pluck and eat. Our thoughts go out to all the invalids in the world, wishing for their sakes, not ours, that they might come here. To our present thinking, there cannot be an ill of body or mind for which this sun and this air have not the cure. In "The Olivuzza" wo have only people who, believing in the "penny- worth of prevention," journey to Sicily that they may not become invalids. These, having the leisure and the inclination, entertain as a "familiar" the spirit of merry-making. To this healthful entertain- ment, no one contributes more than a Russian family spending the winter here. They are friends of Prof. S , so it was not long before we were invited to their " Eight o'clock teas." A Russian tea is not after the manner of a New England one, although quite as important, being the social event of the day. The tea is brought from St. Petersburg, also the teapot, and the wherewithal for concocting the beverage. It is a novel "assistance," the sitting by while the tea is being made ; the stone-like apparatus PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 129 for the making standing in the center of the parlor and seeming to be, in the household of our Russian friends, what the hearthstone is — or was once— for us. Palermo does not, like most cities of marvellous beauty of situation and legendary and historic in- terest, dispel all romance, or destroy all poetic sug- gestions, when one enters its streets. Even there, one seldom loses sight of the wonderful variety and contrasts of shades, tones and colors of the Conca d'Oro, in which the city lies like an opal in a gor- geous setting, or of the deep sea tints embraced by the pearl-like whiteness of Castellamare and the Piazza Marina, or the lofty, rugged, amethystine masses of Monte Pellegrino, or the magnificent forms of the mountains that rise precipitously in the background, their summits folded about with radiance. The architecture of the city is perhaps more curious than elegant, preserving in many struc- tures the striking characteristics of the various peri- ods of its history. As in most South-Italian towns, the modern houses have flat, terraced roofs, which afford charming views; the portals of even the most ordinary are much ornamented, and usually sur- mounted by the arms of the princes, or other titled persons to whom they belong. Apropos of titles, nothing is ever lost in that matter by Palermitans; 130 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the shopkeepers address each other as " most illus- trious," "most learned," etc. A pleasing feature of the buildings, and one which adds life and variety to the streets, is the many over-hanging balconies; for toward evening these are filled with lively, gaily dressed groups, such as have not sought the Marina or the Villa Giulia. Among the cities formerly distinguished for the number of their convents and monasteries, Palermo was prominent. Her streets literally swarmed with priests, and behind the lattice-work enclosing many balconies were seen the black-clad figures and white coroneted faces of nuns, who were probably not averse to taking a little peep now and then into the world which they had forsworn. It was in Palermo that one of the most formidable insurrections against the suppression of monastic institutions broke out, which was itself suppressed only after much blood- shed. At that time our friend, Prof. S , left his chair to take temporarily his old place in the army. In 1860, he was a volunteer under Garibaldi, and glories in having been under fire both at Calatamifi and Melazzo. The once conventual buildings are now used for schools and other Government pur- poses. In that of St. Domenica, near the University, the Professor has his present lecture room, as also several archaeological collections. His collection of PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 131 coins was commenced by his mother, who, accord- ing to her biography in the University library, was a very learned woman from Termini. She taught her son so well in the art which she had made her specialty, that at eight years of age he could classi- fy her store of some thousands of coins according to their historic periods, and repeat the chief events of each without a mistake. She also made a collec- tion representing all the varieties of fish found in the Mediterranean, which she arranged with an eye to effects of colors, a very marvel of beauty and of numbers. Her biographer does not hint that she departed from the ordinary ways of her sex, by the deprecating finale so common in like cases, "Yet she neglected .no duties of wife and mother"; he leaves that to be taken for granted. If we read aright the signs visible in recent events, the time is not far distant when the women of Italy will regain their lost rank in the kingdom of letters, when it may once more be said, "Italy! the land that opens to woman all paths to honorable and glorious achievements, generous land, refusing not to her even a share of laurel crowns." Prof. S has published several volumes on the coins of the most brilliant period in the history of the island, viz. : the Grecian. A volume illustrating the reigns of Hiero king of Syracuse, and Theron of 132 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Agrigentum, with many of the coins of the periods, has happily found its way into my possession. The coins send. a pleasant thrill through the sensitive fingers of one who delights in numismatic relics; for from them shine forth the glories of the two once most splendid Sicilian cities. The finest, most precious of the coins, are those which celebrate the victories of Hiero and Theron in the Pythian and Olympic games — victories song of by Pindar. It goes without saying that we have seen the treasures of the University Museum — the Earn of Syracuse, famous as the best metal-cast of antiquity; and the Metopae of Silenus, with one exception the oldest specimen of Greek sculpture, and one which retains traces of the Oriental parentage of Greek art; also some fragments brought from Silenus, that are interesting, and would be instructive in the study of ancient polychromy. For visiting the Palazzo and the Cappella Reale, we were handed over to the ciceroneship of a young priest, belonging to the Cappella chapter. We had been advised to go during the morning service, as the solemn chanting, the rich dresses of the cele- brants, the upward-floating clouds of incense, and the early sunlight upon the mosaic walls, heightened very much the peculiar poetic effect of the interior. We followed the friendly counsel given us, and were PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 133 not sorry. Never have we seen anything more Rem- brandtish, out of the great apostle-of-color's own canvas, than this small chapel, built by King Roger in 1130. Although preserving, in the main, many peculiarities of Norman architecture, he employed Grecian and Saracen workmen for building both palace and chapel. In the latter, the capitals of the columns are distinctively Grecian, while the arches reposing on the columns are as character- istically Saracen. There is a very graceful and effec- tive mingling of the best qualities of both styles in the dome, the marble panels lining the aisles, and the small slightly pointed windows, through which comes the so-called dim religious light. The mosaics are Greek or Byzantine, the subjects taken from both the Old and New Testament Scriptures. It must be acknowledged, however, that none of them have any great beauty of form or expression, but they are quaint in design; and their bright colors and clear outlines, spread over the gold ground of the interior, give it an elaborate gorgeousness, which, though somewhat subdued by the intentional omis- sion of strong side lights, is still signally striking, and to which the richly fretted roof adds its pecu- liar quota of splendor. In the spaces of the dome and the three apses, the figures seem to float in a golden atmosphere, not only the angels but the 134 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. apostles. There is a still smaller chapel, of little interest except that in the Sacristy we saw the " Act of Foundation " of the Cappella Reale, written in gold on purple silk, a proof that the Norman kings imitated the ostentatious splendors of the Byzantine emperors, even in the matter of such- like documents. The Cathedral of Palermo, occupying the site of an ancient Saracenic mosque, was built during the reign of the Norman, William the Good. It presents a strangely incongruous mixture of styles — every one that has prevailed since its foundation in 1165 being represented. The handsomest and most striking fea- ture of the exterior is the south front, which approxi- mates to the Gothic, the only style of church architect- ure seeming to be truly the outgrowth of the Christian faith. The elaborate ornamentation — a combination of Gothic and Grecian — is particularly rich, a piece out of the realm of wonders ! The interior is wholly modernized, and contains nothing interesting except some graceful sculptures in the niches of the choir, and two chapels, the King's and Sta. Rosalia's. The King's has four canopied monuments, in the sarcoph- agi of which repose the bodies of King Roger, his daughter, his son-in-law, Henry VI., and his grandson, Frederic II. ; and on the walls, inlaid in marble, is a record of the privileges granted to the city by the PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 135 latter. He amended the charter of King Koger by diminishing the power of the nobles and introducing a system of representation ; a ground- work for Sicilian independence, which the people of his capital have never forgotten. The chapel of Sta. Eosalia, near the high altar, has fine pilasters, with marble sculptures by Gagini; the sarcophagus enshrining the bones of the saint, is of silver and weighs 1300 pounds. Sta. Kosalia has been the patron saint of Palermo since her signal deliver- ance of the city from a fearful pestilence early in the 17th century. The event is celebrated by a yearly festival, when her magnificent car is borne through the streets, followed by senators and clergy and a populace extravagant in its demonstrations of ecstatic joy. The Cathedral is ablaze with twenty thousand wax lights, and there are fireworks in all parts of the city, which reveal its white architectural forms and illuminate even its broad girdle of mountains. A little before twelve o'clock, there was a crowd of people in the soi^h aisle of the Cathedral, that we supposed to be waiting for the midday Angelus. It was not long, however before we were undeceived, by seeing that many persons held watches in their hands, and that their eyes were the while fixed on the pavement. Our cicerone soon informed us that the object of the watching and waiting avus for the 136 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. sun's approach to the meridian line traced on the pavement; he added that just such a crowd came every day, and had come for centuries, some from mere habit, others for the actual purpose of regulating their timepieces. It was a novel sight for us, this custom of the Palermitans; and especially were we surprised to note that the crowd was made up of every condition in life, from the beggar in his rags to the prince with his equipage and attendants. As soon as the sun reached the line, all,' turning quickly upon their heels, departed, except one " poor old blind man," who, stooping, traced with his finger the edge of the bright sunbeam, lingering over it and follow- ing it, as it crept onward from beneath his fingers, with evident delight; a type of that of the blind of soul, when they have found even the slightest ray of divine light, or feel the least warmth of love descending from the over-full heavens. The Palermitans are accused of having the faults incident to a southern climate; to wit, suspiciousness, hastiness of speech, disregard of plighted obligations, etc. If these are their sins, we have not found them out; and if we had, we should not deem it fair to lay the blame to their sun and sky, but rather to years of bad government and defective political in- stitutions, the effects of which have not yet been eliminated by the new regime. We find it a little PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 137 singular that, with a people so imaginative and vi- vacious, there should be such a lack of popular amusements; and we are querying if this may not be one reason why the streets are so insecure; for some of the recent happenings, the capture and rob- bing of people within the limits of the city, have been proved to be by the native populace, and not by professional brigands. The people want amuse- ment, otherwise they have too much unoccupied time on their ever-ready hands. Palermo and its vicinity continues to be, what Byron called it, a purple land. One of the leaders of a band of brigands was lately captured among the mountains south of the city, and for the past week has been confined in the barracks near the English Gardens. Yesterday, to our great relief, we saw him marched off to more secure quar- ters. Physically he was a superb looking fellow; he walked with an erect, defiant haughtiness that in- dicated no recognition of crime in his deeds. We were at a loss to understand why it required a whole company of soldiers to guard one man, but it was explained that his colleagues were thought to be concealed in the neighborhood, for the purpose of attempting a rescue. A few moments after the gov- ernment troops with their charge had passed through the streets, a young girl, enveloped in flames, rushed out of the building in which the brigand had been 138 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. kept, and flying across the piazza, sought refuge in the little lodge near the park gate. It is conject- ured that she was in some way connected with a since discovered plan to release the brigand chief. Speaking with our host of the recent capture of some travellers, and the danger of mountain travel- ling, he admitted that there was some danger in the mountains, but added that Palermo was a safe city compared with New York, for in the latter place, even at table, the master of the house always had a revolver at his side. Mr. R had evidently ob- tained his information from sources not quite reliable, but when he brought me a New York paper to prove his assertion, and I looked over the list of murders and robberies, I was not surprised that foreigners get erroneous ideas in regard to us.- And now that I ponder the matter, I am not so sure that Palermo is more insecure than New York, even allowing for the difference in population. Brigands sounds a lit- tle more sanguinary, is a little more startling than robbers, or burglars even, but the difference in the main is not great; and the frequency — I think I may say the percentage — of crime is in disfavor of our own city. XIII. PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. There has been infinite delight in the experi- ences of the past week, particularly for those of us interested in Saracenic-Norman architecture. Go where we will, there is some fascinating remnant of this period to challenge our .admiration. We have been here long enough now to be able to adjust tolerably the focus of our observations, and under the tutelage of Prof. S , have learned to distin- guish with some facility the chief characteristics of each style. One of the most charming and remark- able specimens of the aforesaid Saracenic-Norman — one to which we have quite lost our hearts — is La Cuba, outside the Porta Nuova. In the same build- ing are seen traces of the sumptuous elegance of Saracen emirs and the ostentatious magnificence of Norman kings. Fazello, a -writer of the sixteenth century, gives a detailed description of its splendors. All that remains for our delectation is, in the palace, 140 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. some very beautiful decorative honeycomb work, some inscriptions, nearly illegible — illegible not only to us but to the most scholarly Egyptian — and one small vaulted pavilion. This last has four single, pointed arches, ornamented with exquisitely carved mouldings; while its dome is graceful in lines and proportions, despite distinctive Egyptian solidity — a characteristic appertaining to the whole structure. In this pavilion one recognizes the model of several churches — those which give the Moorish features to the architecture of the city, and at first sight so de- ceive the traveller as to their date and origin. La Martorana, a church built by George of An- tioch, High Admiral of Roger I., is a curious example of the deceptiveness mentioned. Although it suf- fered a Byzantine change when annexed to a neigh- boring convent, the upper stories of the campanile retain the billet mouldings and relievo-embroidery seen in La Cuba; and its Arabic text is recognized in the inscriptions on the columns of the interior. In one of the notable pictures, the Admiral has pre- sented to the Virgin a scroll, at the bottom of which is written "The Prayer of George the Admiral." Bella, who is always seeking for the deepest possible meanings, discovers that by the " Prayer " is indi- cated, not the scroll, but the church, — an idea more poetical than real, probably, for the Norman mind PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 141 seems to have had little thought of expressing spir- itual emotions or aspirations in architecture. San Giovanni degli Eremiti, the church first to sound the alarm at the time of the massacre known as the Sicilian Vespers, has the grouped cupolas of the Saracenic style, as well as many others of its effective outbursts of richness and elegance. The interior is perceptibly ambitious of Oriental splendor in the details of ornamentation; the altars are over- laid with bewildering arabesques, the stately columns support arches faced with honeycomb work, and, in the angles and on the corners of the capitals beneath the dome, are the corbels and other bracket-penden- tives, peculiar to the genius of the Saracenic. Only its form (that of a Latin cross), its many altars with lighted tapers, and its confessionals, indicate its Christian purpose. In Sicily as well as in Paris, English and Ameri- cans alike seem to forget their home-taught reverence for Sunday. They even out-do the gay pleasure- loving Palermitans in their disregard of the sacred- ness of the day; for the latter do go to church in the morning, but of the former, only a very small proportion is ever seen at service in the English chapel. There are many English and some Ameri- cans resident here, and their fraternizing socially was at first a puzzle to me, bearing in mind the 142 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. proverbial English exclusiveness. But an elderly Englishman who sits near us at table explained, "They are in the same boat socially, and cannot hide the fact from each other, all being engaged in trade — buyers of oranges and wines for houses at home." The German, unlike the American or Eng- lishman, is unpretentious wherever you find him. If he is a buyer of oranges, etc., he accepts his posi- tion as the just allotment of heaven, never desiring to seem other than he is, and renders deference to titled personages with a readiness that seemingly has not a shadow of envy in it. We have at our Olivnzza table d'hote, the German buyer and the German baron; the latter is also a scholar. He is on his way to Cyprus, sent thither by the Prussian Government to superintend some archaeological re- searches. That he is the emissary of an economical government is evident, else he would not suspend the conventionalisms of his rank and dine at the table d'hote. We have just now another specimen of German nobility in our house, and of quite another sort, the Countess of A , mother of the lovely Prin- cess T . Owing to certain peculiarities which signally interfere with the Prince's love of domestic quiet, the Countess cannot live at the palace, even when on a visit to her daughter ; and thus it happens PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 143 that when she is in Palermo, she honors with her patronage the Olivuzza, it being the nearest eligible residence. The Princess' landau comes mornings to take the Countess out for an airing, and the state coach afternoons to take her to pay visits, both of which events are foreshadowed by certain strange sounds within her dressing-room; which, fortunately or unfortunately as one may chance to judge in the matter, adjoins our parlor. We are thus compelled to be often unwilling auditors of the noble lady's singular proceedings. When we hear a sudden, vio- lent thump against the wall, as if it were hit by one of many instruments appertaining to the administra- tion of a lady's toilet, we, Bella and I, full of sym- pathy for all oppressed, utter a simultaneous excla- mation of thankfulness, knowing that the maid has saved her head from the threatened breaking by a happy dodge. When the Countess is attended to her carriage, be it the morning landau, or the after- noon coach, she is as regal and smiling as could be expected of a queen regnant; one would suspect nothing of the confusion and carnage through which she had attained the glossy locks and rosiness of complexion so becoming to her stateliness. We are never blessed with the sight of her most distin- guished Sereneness, except when she makes her en- trees and sorties. 144 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. But why linger in the house when one may go to the mountains — to Monreale ! It was a lovely morn- ing; the mountain's kingly sun-crowned head and majestic form, clothed with shadows, rose in stately grandeur beyond a foreground dotted with foliage, and overspread with the scintillating glow of tremu- lous purple and amber hues. Human interests were overshadowed by the rich and glorious inanimate Nature before us; the sweet influences of the pure mountain air, and joyous thrills of renewed vital powers, seemed somewhat akin to the spiritual quick- enings and delights of the being "born again." We met contadini coming into the city, but only noted how picturesque they looked — how they fitted into the landscape. When we heard the charming Sici- lian dialect (Sicilian must have been the vernacular of Paradise), we called it one of the sounds of the landscape — a bit of its melody ; never thinking to sep- arate the blameless Greek from the luxurious Oriental or the sonorous Spanish from the delicious inwrought work and setting of modern Italian. The road up the mountain offered only the incidents of deep runnels for water, its own white glare and that of the solid masonry walling it up, with occasionally vases or plaster figures along the parapet of the wall. The easy windings and unadventurous stretches of the road came to a sudden halt and surprise in the PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 145 squalor, misery, and smallness of the piazza in front of the great Norman magnificence, the Cathedral of Monreale. The Cathedral is indebted for its site — if debt there be in the matter — to the fact that King Wil- liam, when hunting, was overcome by fatigue, and lying down to rest, happily fell asleep. In the vision of his sleep he was directed to build a church on the very spot where he had enjoyed the blessed refreshment. Thus it happens that the Cathedral stands on the side of the mountain, which is unfortu- nate for the conditions of seeming rectitude in its posture, but it stolidly defies and bravely conquers them, particularly on the side toward the valley. In the exterior of the structure there is nothing royal, except the royal grandeur of its size, but it has many pleasing varieties of architectural and his- torical expression, and unmistakably hints at the boasted intention of the king "to surpass if possible all his former efforts." This hint is seen chiefly in the great portal of the west front, which is elaborate in devices and exquisite in color. We saw it with masses of light lying on the relievos of the Grecian scroll work and angular, zigzag Norman mouldings, — such masses as bring out the strong tints and shapely lines of the mosaics, while they deal tenderly with coyer tints and the shadows stolen into intaglio 146 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. depths. The massive Norman tower stands up stur- dily and proudly like an enthroned king in his might, its simple strength and grand impressiveness demanding nothing from Greek refinement or Gothic exuberance. How the majesty of a great Cathedral dwarfs all smaller architectural expressions! it touches the key-note to our noblest thoughts and loftiest aspirations. Our progress was arrested by two sleeping cherubs, impromptus from the piazza, "who were lying before the great closed doors, as unconscious of their superb bronze magnificence as of the admiration called forth by their own rosy, picturesque beauty. When the doors — the work of Bonano of Pisa — were suddenly thrown open, what a vision of glory, a very hallelu- jah of color, burst out of the rich, delicious half- shadow in which all lay! The broad avenue-like nave between its multitudinous massive columns of different colored marbles, stretches itself far away into the dim remoteness of transepts and the strik- ing, dominating gorgeousness of the central apse; the walls are covered with gold overlaid with mo- saics, which if wanting in luminousness, lack nothing in design or in brilliancy of hues — scarlet and ruby, topaz and sapphire, ambitiously emulating one an- other. In an open space in the choir stands the sarcophagi of kings, that of William the Good having PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 147 the most conspicuous place. The wonderful carving of the roof of the Cathedral is the marvel crowning all; one could spend a long time studying its exquisite details — as fertile in poetic inventions as in grace and beauty of execution. Although the Cathedral exercises the usual hos- pitality of Komish churches, welcoming alike the beggar in his rags and the king in purple and ermine, there was, in all its perfect, holy hush of aisles and altars, but a single worshipper — a young man. He bore no pilgrim's staff, or other insignia of his faith, but in the handsome, reverent face there was a touching tenderness, awe, and penitence, that found expression in the half-audible voice of a sad, sweet, but hopeful entreaty, which would surely reach the ear of the compassionate One. Across the small piazza is the entrance to the monastery ; which however was forbidden to us, except one room used as a library. In descending to this room, we stopped to examine Pietro Novelli's famous picture, which is on the side wall of the staircase. It represents St. Benedict distributing to his chiefs the rules of his order, in the symbolical form of "bread. Its meaning blossoms readily out of its elemental parts, — its atmosphere, graceful forms, golden tones, and its one pertinent and striking sym- bol. If one may not live by bread alone, it is never- 148 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. theless the chief support of physical life; so if one may not live by rules alone, they are main helps in the necessary discipline and order of spiritual life and growth. The cloister, on the south side of the Cathedral, is all that remains of the ancient Bene- dictine Convent. It is in a sadly neglected condition ; many of the mosaics have fallen from the vaulting of the roof, and a sort of deserted, rusty, melancholy stillness pervades the air. The two hundred and sixteen slenderly clustered columns are arranged in pairs except at the corners, where they are quadru- pled. They are the most beautiful specimens that we have yet seen of the style in which the Norman kings delighted, the Grecian-Saracenic. The capitals have a millionairic wealth of artistic achievement, — exquisite combinations of flowers and fruit, wreaths of fanciful, subtile grace, and luxuriant but delicate vines, seeming to depend from handsome corbels. There are also grotesque figures, which lack nothing in variety and strength; and there are even scenic- combats, touches of Norman taste. On the terrace of the hillside — the garden plateau of the Convent — we encountered Prof. S and Padre M , returning from San Martino, where the former had been superintending the first drawings (those in pencil) for his new work on Sicilian Archae- ology. We congratulated Padre M on his re- PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 149 cent vindication before the Ecclesiastical Tribunal, and his consequent discharge by that still all-power- ful body. But why we (Protestants) should have done so, I am unable to comprehend. On second thought, we ought to have congratulated him on having been arrested; a charge of heresy (i. e., a leaning to Protestantism) is nothing so woeful in these days of " Catholic Reform." Yet I suspect that movement has found little support in this part of the Island. If we may judge from what we see, it is here either Romanism unquestioned or an abso- lute rejection of all faith. Padre M has many friends, and a little more agitation and investigation before he was released and reinstated in his place in the Chapter of the Cappella Reale, might have been the means of disseminating some healthful knowledge. Directing our attention to the scene of unparalleled beauty that lay before us, Bella suddenly exclaimed, " How thankful I am that I was born." Although it was seeking rather remote "first causes" for grati- tude, we shared her enthusiastic ecstasy. If the eye be appreciative, the richness and beauty of the plain of Palermo tests one's sense of delight to the utter- most. At our feet were blooming oleanders, thick- ets of prickly pears, and orange groves with their velvety foliage and odorous breath. Further away, 150 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. in the direction of Monte Grifone, clusters of round- topped pines nodded in idle abandon their grave dusky heads; aloes here and there rose twenty feet out of great cups of root leaves, vines clinging to and relieving their stiff unfanciful formalism; and immense cypresses and gigantic yew-trees flung over the plain their long shadows, charged with the pon- derous memories of hundreds of years. On the curve of the wave-washed shore lay the white city in a deep, shady stillness, with an occasional gleaming of pinnacles and mosque-like cupolas, — the lofty, brown, rugged, wall-like masses of Pellegrine and Grifone saying to the encroaching sea, " Thus far and no far- ther." Beyond their dark line, sailing-vessels, un- winged for want of a breeze, dozed in a dreamy lull- aby calm, while upon the distant line of the horizon, where the sweet heavenly blue came down to meet the deeper, more palpable blue of the sea, floated as a parting signal the dark mezzotinted pennon of the Naples bound steamer. But the rich and varied color-effects with which the landscape was touched transfigured and glorified all, for us who delight in brilliant results, however incurious we may be as to reasons and processes. There were exquisite greens bright with thoughts of Spring, and flashes of darker emerald tones emerging from masses of cast-off or re- vivified browns; soft-hued azures losing themselves in PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 151 deep, delicious purples, or suddenly arrested in their mysterious reaches and intricate blendings by the sharp-cut shadow of a mountain; and cool willow grays and pale olives caught and held in the radiant warmth of the golden sun, which gave its glow and mellowing harmony-tints to the entire scene. There is a peculiar shadow-tone in all the local color of the valley plain of Palermo, owing to the fact that its wall of mountains is so precipitous, and that its one open- ing is on the north side. This effect is most striking in the tints of the smaller bay, on which the sun sel- dom shines, or at most only for a little while at a time. We turned our eyes longingly toward the loftier heights, where amid silence and solitude, we knew we might find the famous Convent of San Martino, in the library of which originated the curious literary imposture of Abbate Vella, the pretended recovery of the lost books of Livy. It was an ill wind for the Abbate, but a lucky one for others, that brought to the Convent the long-headed Oriental scholar who detected and proved the imposture. However, giv- ing up San Martino was not so grievous after seeing some of the brotherhood from thence who stated that ladies could not be admitted even to the Library. We fancied they had a solemn, haunted look, as if they had come from the kingdom of ghostly memories and defenders. 152 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. In the Olivuzza suburb are seen some of the finest villas of the Sicilian nobility, also the Sara- cenic ruin of La Zisa. The walls of this structure are plain, being relieved only by pointed panels, and an inscription in Arabic around the summit. One of the halls — an open one — is said to be of the same architecture as the Alhambra, to have the same grace and beauty in its ornamentation, and to suggest in its appointments the same splendors and refinements ; certain it is, its beauty is to-day as desolate, its gar- dens are destroyed, and its fountains play no more ! Prof. S , who is very proud of Spanish Saracenic mixtures in Sicily, says, if one includes in the view of La Zisa the near olive groves, the myrtle and aloes, and the not far distant palm-trees, and fancies them filled with the plaintive cadence of Moorish melan- choly, he will have a good bit of southern Spain in La Zisa and its surroundings. XIY. MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. The pleasantest happenings to a tourist are the occasional surprises — the unexpected randoms which he encounters, whether in people or in things. Next in delectableness are the exceptional findings of both, that prove to be better than fancy had pictured them, and in which, because they are so rare, the memory has as permanent delight as in actual dis- coveries. These reflections are pertinent in calling to mind an excursion made to Monte Pellegrino a few days since. We knew in general that the vast mass rising so precipitously from the sea, with its deep purple hollows and gray rugged battlements resembling the crumbling towers of some feudal cas- tle wherein wild sea birds make their homes, had been likened to the Eock of Gibraltar, that as the Ereta of the ancients it afforded an almost impreg- nable stronghold to the Carthagenians and that, in every view of the city and plain, whether by sea or land, flanked by seemingly inaccessible 154 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. precipices, its feet set in jewelled foam, its sum- mit draped with an iridescent radiance, it Was the majesty dominating all else — the one. crowning glory ! But we were far from suspecting the in- finite wonders, the impressive incidents and match- less effects that would be revealed to us when we should ascend to the topmost pinnacle. The ascent is rendered easy by a road which rests on arches and columns, and makes its upward prog- ress by a series 'of zigzags between the cliffs. Under an overhanging rock, near the summit of the moun- tain, is the cavern in which was discovered the body of Sta. Rosalia. The cavern has been converted into a chapel without changing its natural form; in the recesses of the rock are the altars and the shrine of the saint, before which lamps are always burn- ing. We were struck with the singular beauty and suitableness of the chapel as a place of wor- ship; its solemn isolation seemed to wall out all worldliness, and to give unconditioned assurances of the presence of the Infinitely Holy. The pecu- liar richness and depth of tones lent a charming accord to the light and coloring of the irregularly distributed spaces; the dark green of the tubes used to collect and carry off the constantly drop- ping water, had the appearance of thin traceries of moss, or overlacing weedy arabesques, and bright- MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 155 ened the sombre gray of the rock, while plastic art tendered its aid in the beautiful statue of the saint, by Gregorio Tedeschi, a Florentine. She is repre- sented in an ecstatic state, the eyes half closed, the hands clasped, and is clad in a robe imitating the texture of wrought gold; near by stands an angel waving a branch of lilies. The stillness, which had added to itself a deeper hush and more sol- emn sentiment of solitude, was suddenly broken by the sound of priestly voices chanting a low, sweet vesper hymn before the high altar. The measure kept time to the rhythmical accompani- ment of water trickling slowly from the rocky sides of the chapel, as if the spirit of the place had taken on a tender, sympathetic mood, being touched by the sight of its own softly falling tears. This cavern chapel is as simple and sub- lime in thought, as rebuking to all human self- assertion and rebelliousness, as awe-inspiring and filled with praise of Him who hath made it as when freshly torn from the silence of the moun- tain and cast thus high into the air. A small temple commands the finest sea-view, and occupies the site on which once stood a col- ossal statue of Sta. Eosalia, The pious mariner "going down to the sea in ships," fixed his part- ing gaze upon it, and crossing himself, invoked 156 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the protection of the saint, Returning from voy aging into strange lands, it was the first object sought by his longing eyes, and as soon as he descried the familiar figure keeping its accus- tomed watch on the rocky heights, he pledged a goodly thank-offering to Sta. Rosalia's shrine. From the brink of the precipice one casts his eye over the broad, ravishingly lovely lapis lazuli of the Medi- terranean, following the graceful curve of the shore toward the east, now bright with the bloom of early spring, till it is lost in the bold advance of Monte Catalfano; he listens to the perpetual anthem sound- ing on the rocks hundreds of feet below, and to the undisturbed chorus of birds in their lofty eyries above; he w r atches the clouds sailing down like white- winged angels from the heavenly battlements; he sees the atmosphere's sudden, mysterious ex- change of tints, soft gray azures giving way to bright rosy hues; he beholds the mountain tops serenely stately above their girdle of waving palms and solemn cypresses, putting on glittering golden aureoles, obedient to the sun's royal behest; and lo! the whole earth becomes to him a vast cathe- dral — the full heart finds expression only in the cry, u Who hath built thee up so mighty, world, sea, valleys wide, hills and mountains?" "Surely our God is a great God." MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 157 The climate of Sicily is unlike that of Italy proper; the sun is more brilliant, and almost African in heat; the vegetation is more luxuriant, as if poured out of- a fuller, more open-handed plenteousness ; while the flora is far more gorgeous, the stately agave and flaming oleander being its brave standard-bearers. Whether as things of beauty for the eye, or as de- lectable things for the palate, the olives, citrons, and Indian figs of the island far surpass those of the mainland; and the golden wines, compounded of volcanic and summer heats, inspire songs more care- free and joyous. Even the formation of the island's sea-girt coast is quite unlike that of the peninsula, which slopes gently to the white margin of the Mediterranean; it is rugged and bristling, advances defiantly, and falls precipitously into dark, seemingly fathomless depths. Rising threateningly out of the waves, the eastern "rock-bound shore," the granite- battlemented guardian of "fair Trinacria," looks black and frowningly upon its vis-a-vis across the strait. Thus did the Sicilian once look upon the Italian of the continent, fraternizing with him neither in thought, language, nor manners. The natives of Sicily were a people as peculiar unto themselves in character as were the beauty and historic grandeur of their island when the Romans came to admire, covet, and conquer. Keen as was the Roman blade, 158 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. its edge was turned by the Sicilian ploughshare; hence the servile wars that so long devastated the* land. It is not easy to account for the Sicilian's once deep-seated aversion to being called an Italian; whether it was simply the remaining heritage of a Saracenic ancestry (certainly it was stronger in the southern part of the island, w r here there was, and still is, a greater preponderance of the Oriental ele- ment), or whether we must go further back to seek its cause, we are unable to say. It is set down in legendary records, that in the days called pre-his- toric, the giant forces of the earth, sentient and prophetic as to the nations that were to spring up and occupy the four quarters of the globe, and for whom they wished to open a passage from the western sea into the eastern, tore off this triangu- lar mass from the mainland, and hurled it, writhing with agony, into the depths of the sea. It w r as not long, however, before it reappeared: remembering the pains of the forced separation, did it pledge itself, with all its sunny, blooming beauty and the people that should inhabit it, to an isolated exist- ence? Or, when the earth was heaved up, the val- leys scooped out, and the mountains piled one upon another by the power of fire, did the violence of volcanic heat engender hatred toward the mother- land, and leave it as a heritage to the dwellers in MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 159 the island? Are the fiercer passions — jealousy, ha- tred, and mockery — as native to volcanic soil as poetry, love, and patriotism ? It was the fate of Sicily, consequently that of its capital city, to be for centuries the scene of succes- sive foreign incursions, to be tossed wildly and swiftly from one victor's oppressive hand to another, until the desire as well as the power of independent self- assertion became apparently but a memory in the land. It was not till the foot of the Bourbon was set upon their necks that the paralyzed spirit of the people awoke. Eepressed longings — even the hope for ultimate freedom — stirred within them, vitaliz- ing their energies, and kindling an enthusiasm en- nobled by the worthy demand for an united Italy. Their long-stifled hatred of tyranny broke out like a devouring flame, which not all their blood, nor the blood of their sons, could quench. In 1860, his- tory began for them a new cycle, scattering the seeds of promise throughout the island. The sol- dier of freedom, the man of Caprera, sent his bugle notes over the blue sea. The people of Sicily heard, and made such answer that under his leadership on Sicilian soil was struck the first, effective blow for Italian unity. Glowing with the transports of vic- tory, the islanders bore the standard of liberty across the straits, and planted it on the mainland. If the 160 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. intended stride toward freedom has proved only a step in the march, the more intelligent accept that with gratitude, content to watch and wait. They still trustingly believe in a future unfolding, in which Italy ransomed shall attain complete fulness and glory.' Palermo seems to have well comprehended the po- sition pf Sicily in the United Kingdom, as is evident by the ready aid she has rendered it in men and means. She was one of the first cities to put off the holiday garb and habits of the dolce far niente of the south, and put her hand to earnest, active labor. By developing and utilizing the varied re- sources of the island, and by gradually effecting practical reforms, she thinks to work out its politi- cal and social regeneration. Her University is one of which any city might be proud, and she has had the wisdom to allow the middle and lower classes opportunities for more extended information than they have hitherto enjoyed. If her schools have been less successful than those of Naples, still great progress has been made. Though the scribe with spectacles and ready inkhorn, sitting in the Quat- tro Cantoni, writing at the dictation of some hand- some youth or bright-eyed maiden, is yet one of the picturesque details of her streets, the sight is not so usual as in former days. While the observant trav- MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 161 eller rejoices at the inference, viz. : that the de- mand for the scribe's services has visibly lessened among those who are to be the future guardians of the State, he cannot but miss the great variety of color, composition, and action once so striking in these wayside pictures. He sees, however, other bright local pictures — other splendid life-groups; for on every hand are those which are the outcome of an exchange of the old leisure and idleness for na- tionally healthful occupations — new industries and political activities. In the matter of public and pri- vate charities, Palermo is, as indeed she has always been, preeminently distinguished. If her brilliant sun and the seething heat of Etna's fires do breed a fiery passionateness in the native character, there are also born of them great loves. Compassionate- ness and a large-hearted liberality are among the striking characteristics of the Palermitan nobleman. Our last excursion outside the city was to Monte Grifone, the favorite resort of painter and poet; neither ever tires of the marvellous picture seen from its summit. Monte Pellegrino forms the main fea- ture of the background, with the bloom of a long purple distance opening between it and the moun- tains to the southward. In the foreground is the city, with its churches, palaces, and ramparts, the rhythmic movement of its gay, cheerful life, and 162 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the ruined walls of Castellamare, swimming dreamily in a thousand changing lights and shadows. Spring, persuasively quickened of the heavens, had made no- ticeable advances within a few days; the intense blues and purples of the waysides were streaked with greens, azures, and violets; there were white nar- cissus, pale-tinted cyclamen, and in shady places great beds of forget-me-nots. The light breeze stray- ing from the valley had taken its quota of odor as it brushed past hawthorn hedges and rose-scented gardens, while the whole air was vocal with the singing of birds, newly inspired and full-voiced for their spring-time symphony or jubilate chorus. On the lower slope of Monte Grifone is the Capuchin monastery of II Gesu; behind it a path climbs the steep side of the mountain, through a tangle of trees and shrubs and clinging vines, to "The Crosses," overhung with ivy-covered rocks, and their bases muffled with flowers. The quaint-featured monas- tery, with a superannuated expression — a vague mem- ory, as it were, of its early Norman origin — is half buried in a luxuriant growth of orange and yew trees. In the yard, apart, stands a beautiful star- shaped palm, its long tapering leaves tremulous in the still air. It is a wonderful revelation of infinite grace and loveliness, uniting one's early dreams of the Orient with a present poetic reality: one lingers MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 163 near it, trying to grasp and make fast the link that binds it to the memory of Christ's entry into Jerusalem. We encountered at the point of egress into the highway three or four gentlemen, whom we at once set down as Englishmen, for each one carried a Mur- ray, and had an opera-glass slung across his shoulder. Our suspicion was confirmed when a little doubt as to the right of way gave us an opportunity to note the striking superiority in which the travelling Eng- lishman envelops himself, and which makes him such a favorite, particularly with his English-speaking cousins. Further down the mountain we overtook peasants jogging cityward, their donkeys seemingly lost beneath immense loads of purple-headed broc- coli ; — the poor overladen and overbeaten donkey ! is there anything in its way more pathetic than his resignation — when he is resigned ? Midway between the base of Monte Grifone and the city, surrounded by melancholy cypresses, and some- what removed from the bright line of the highway, we found the church of Santo Spirito, the scene of the tragic events known as the " Sicilian Vespers." On that Easter Monday, a. d. 1282, the church stood in the midst of a flower-strewn plain ; the air trembled with throbbings of universal joy as the fes- tive vesper-throng moved on its way toward Mon- 164 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. reale. A Frenchman's insolence to a maiden changed the smiling, flowery mead into a field of blood. In the fearful carnage that ensued, not only was the maiden avenged, but Conradin, the youthful Hohen- staufen, whose cruel murder gave to Frenchmen the possession of the island. The influence of the rev- olution that followed was not confined to the island; it was felt throughout all Europe, and gave a strong impetus to the cause of freedom. To the church of Santo Spirito (one of the oldest Christian edifices in Palermo, having been built more than a century prior to the Sicilian Vespers massa- cre) is attached the old Campo Santo. The approach to it is fitly most gloomy and ghostly; the paths are bordered with stiff, sombre-hued box, in which are laid grinning skulls, and the air seems freighted with a leaden stillness, in which are thoughts of death that go no further than mere dissolution. In the underground galleries of the Campo one may see the skeletons of defunct Palermitans, ar- rayed in garments, facsimiles of those worn when living, said garments being renewed by surviving relatives as often as deemed necessary. The cus- tom of keeping the dead thus unburied, and of re- storing to shrivelled brows fair tresses, to the nerve- less grasp the jewel-hilted sword, and to shrunken forms the soft fallings of costly lace, or shimmer of MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 165 glace and brocaded webs, is fast becoming a thing of the past. The funeral processions, in which the body of the deceased was borne, either in a chair or exposed on an open bier, ar^ no longer permitted. Latterly the dead are coffined, and in a hearse are carried to the place of burial. The new Campo Santo is on the north side of Monte Pellegrino. Peacefully should all rest under the shadow of the great mountain! XV. THE MARINA. — GARIBALDI'S OCCUPATION OF THE CITY. One of the disagreeable fatalities attending travel, is that just as one gets settled, and begins to take a sort of home-feeling delight in his surroundings, the necessity to be moving on stares him in the face, and will take no appeal from the peremptory order to "pack up." It became evident, at last, even to our bewitched perceptions, that we must leave Palermo — tear ourselves away from our charming Olivuzza, where from the stone balconies or terraced roof we had watched so many purple twilights deepen into darkness, and felt the stillness fall around us like the soft folds of a flexile garment. We spent our last evening in Palermo on the Marina. We had walked there often in the full light of pleasant afternoons, when it was thronged with carriages offering a combination of coroneted panels and beautiful faces; while under the shade THE MARINA. 167 of its magnificent trees or beside its flower-bordered pathways sat picturesque groups enjoying themselves in the happy Sicilian fashion — a fashion ecstatic with a sort of precelestial rapture — and demanding if the Marina was not a bit of paradise. Seated on the parapet overlooking the sea, and gazing beyond its heaving bosom into the far-away, Ave had watched the fantastic confusions of waves and clouds, the strangely glittering compounds of shimmer and shad- ow, and pondered on the mighty mystery of the sea's solemn and awful isolation. We had strolled through the Marina's foot promenade, adorned with statues, flower-filled vases, and fountains; and, lis- tening to the suggestive, cooing bird-music of the thickets, woven a bright-webbed romance. A young maiden of our party was as lovely to look upon as the roses she had gathered, her movements lingering in one's thoughts like the fragment of a song; and within easy speaking distance walked our friend, the handsome Professor, with the stamp of great intellectual gifts on his lofty brow, and frankly ad- mitting that he admired American girls more than all others. Apropos of lovers and the Marina, the latter might well be called the Lover's Walk. When a young man of the city thinks he has fallen in love and desires to marry, he signifies his intentions by asking 168 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the wished-for maiden's father if he may join the family group on the Marina. Having done this once or twice in the face of the Marina world, the young man is in honor bound, and must the maiden wed; but discoursing of lovers, we have wandered from our moonlight evening beside the multitudinous waters. However beautiful Palermo's sea-side promenade may be, — and it is called by tourists the loveliest in the world, — one cannot know all its possibilities till he has seen it as transfigured by the splendors of a royal night — a Queen Luna's night. In the piazza through which we passed on our way thither, a fountain threw tall, sparkling jets up into the white gleaming; which, falling back into the great stone basin, filled it with twisted, bead} 7 masses, like piled up links of Roman pearls; while the Porta Felice — open at the top that the car of St. Rosalia may pass through on the occasion of her festivals — was outlined against a background of sky and sea darkness, with its square, tower-like pinnacles play- ing hide-and-seek at the will of the moonbeams, and the daylight grey of its limestone whitened into irre- proachable marble. On the Marina the band was discoursing sweet music, — airs from Sonnambula, in which Sicilians es- pecially delight, not only for the reason that its sym- pathetic movements and fresh melodic qualities are THE MAMMA. 169 so easily seized and comprehended by them, but be- cause Bellini was a native of their island — the only composer of note whom they may claim. As we strolled on under long tapering-fingered palms, the breeze in soft, spirit-like tones responded to their gentle touch; and beneath the drooping, censer- swinging arms of gigantic willows, dimly outlined vistas opened and wandered off, to be lost in uncer- tain shadows. On every hand flowery arabesques (curiously shaped flower beds), touched by the ma- gician's wand, made charming revelations. Their exquisite grace and beauty, all a-tremble in a silver gleam of delight, seemed like rarest, sweetest phan- toms; the whole night air was filled with their grateful fragrance — earth's joy-laden incense floating heavenward. The white line of the sea-wall bal- ustrade, the silent marble or granite sentinels on guard in the open spaces, and the quiet groups strolling hither and thither, now in a soft enfolding half-shadow, now struck by a broad beam of moon- light, were easily adapted to the filling out and col- oring of the pleasant fancies of the moment. Far out in unbounded space the sea seemed to mass its mysteries; one listened for the thunder-conches of Tritons, and thought of Nereids with dishevelled tresses and garments " dripping with foam," or heard in imagination the bodeful roar of tempest-chased 1.70 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. waters, and remembered there were those who sailed and were never heard of more. A cool breeze laid its touch caressingly upon uncovered brows, lifting straying locks as lightly as might the gentlest spirit of the moonbeams; it offered an exhaustless draught of sweetness and refreshment ; we, drinking thereof, were grateful, and wondered not that the Palermi- tans are so fond of their promenade by the softly sounding sea. To our senses, sea and sky, moonlight and music, things movable and immovable, all that was given us for the place and the hour, was steeped in ineffable beauty, and set to poetic movements. The soberer details of the Marina are that it is divided into two portions, or grades, called the upper and lower — the latter running along the sea- shore, with a paved footway between it and the water margin, and the former being a parallel ter- race, backgrounded by a stately line of magnificent palaces; and that the part occupied by the road- ways is eighty feet broad, and extends from the Porta Felice, the terminus of the corso Vittorio Emanuele, to the Botanical Gardens — a distance of little more than a mile. The w^ater for the foun- tains is supplied by the city reservoirs, which are numerous, found generally at the corners of the streets, and are a blessing for which the city is in- debted to the Saracens. THE MARINA. 171 From the Marina we wandered into the Villa Giulia, and sat awhile beneath its famous flowering trees; afterward we strolled through the avenues bordered by palmettos and cypresses, oranges, and citrons of the Botanical Gardens, and thence, fol- lowing the line of the ancient wall, reached the Porta through which Garibaldi entered the city in 1860, and which since that time has been called by his name. It was a glorious day for Sicily when the expectant cry " Garibaldi is coming," was changed into the enthusiastic shout " Garibaldi is come." He landed at Marsala with his band of volunteers (it could scarcely be called an army, numbering in all less than two thousand), and, having vanquished the Neapolitan troops which had advanced to Cala- tafimi to meet him, marched upon Palermo, where was quartered the main body of the royal forces. To their astonished and reluctant gaze, suddenly on the heights encircling the city appeared a long- line of Garibaldian outposts; in fact the handful of men was all converted into outposts, thus produc- ing the impression of a large army. The royalists, not daring to risk an encounter on the heights where the invaders had apparently entrenched themselves, made a stand at Ponte dell'Ammiraglio, and, strongly fortifying it, there awaited an attack from the then so-called guerrilla chief. On the 27th of May, thirty 172 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of his famous "one thousand," aided by Turr and Bixio's bands, stormed and took the bridge, the key of the royalist's position, thereby opening the road to Palermo. Forcing their way at once into the city, under the fire of several batteries and while the fleet in the harbor kept up a continual bombardment, they were received with the wildest demonstrations of gratitude by the citizens, who in their desire to aid in the work of driving Bourbon minions from the streets, brought their household goods, mattresses and the like, to help in the con- struction of barricades. " For three days," continued Prof. S , as we turned into the Corso Garibaldi, "the contest raged, then the gallant deliverer and his little band called their victory complete ; and the world looked upon twenty thousand well-provided, well-disciplined Neapolitan regulars confined in the city fortresses and barracks, they and the ships of their fleet guarded by eight hundred men — mostly youths inexperienced in the arts of war, and peasants who had joined the small force on its march from Marsala. Undoubtedly the enthusiasm of the peas- antry was kindled and kept alive by that of a young monk, known as Brother John, who, bearing aloft a crucifix, had led the Garibaklian advance." "\Yhere were you all this time?" inquired Bella. " Oh, somewhere in the melee, as ragged, excited THE MARINA. 173 and nearly famished as any. It was not till the evening of the fourth day that I obtained a tempo- rary leave of absence; when hurrying to the Palazzo A » which is, as you know, just inside the Porta Maequeda, I presented myself, unshod, unshorn, and in my tattered red Garibaldian shirt, before my half distracted mother. She was ready to give me her blessing then, a boon I had at first craved, but went away without, she not being able to see of what service a youth of seventeen could be to his country in the ranks of Garibaldi." Sicily— mountain shored, teased with the fever of Etna's fires, of a beauty that attracted the nations from the North and the South, the East and the West — is the heroine of a sad and ever-changing story. From the time of its accredited settlement by the Phoenicians until the present, the desire for inde- pendence has kept it restless. Conquered, but with spirit unsubdued, it was always in a heat; ready to break out in insurrections against any form of tyr- anny. Now that it forms part of a so-called con- stitutional Government, many incongruous elements are being eliminated; while its temper, it is to be hoped, will lose some of its fire. A new life seems to flow in its veins and feed its ambition, and its graces are maturing with the developing of its mani- fold resources; an increasing Jove of order, the spirit 174 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. of a more generous social and religious toleration, and an ardent, patriotic enthusiasm for United Italy, being prominent. May its present promises, at no dis- tant day, prove golden fruitions, which shall be more brilliant and enduring than all its ancient glories ! Whoever visits Southern Italy should not fail to con- tinue his journeyings to the island. Its natural beau- ties are wholly peculiar to itself; its styles of ancient architecture — the Norman and Byzantine Saracenic — are nowhere else to be seen in such entireness; and certainly its political condition should have more than ordinary interest for us, with whom it has largely increasing commercial relations. Italy, without Si- cily, is far from complete — it is like a magnificent crown lacking a rare and costly jewel. On the 24th inst., we retraced our steps, trusting ourselves once more to the fickle, and sometimes false, Mediterranean. The beauty of the long drive from the Piazza Olivuzza to the wharf of the Nea- politan steamer at the westernmost point of the har- bor, under the shadows of Monte Pellegrino, was not needed to emphasize to us the charms of this fairest of Italian cities, nor the renewed kindness of friends to add to the pains of leave-taking. From the deck of the steamer we watched the gradual distancing of the city's splendid palaces, mosque-like churches, and eloquent ruin, Fort Castellamare. We THE MARINA. 175 saw the grand purple mountains which, with their villas and monasteries, form its background, the smil- ing vine and orangerie covered slopes swaying to and fro, as if intoxicated with their own luxurious beauty, and finally the bold, sphynx-like rocks, with defiant strength set as guardians of the harbor, all disappear — vanish like a gorgeous dream ! In memory they linger as the marginal illuminations of a sonorous lyric. Before nightfall we had sighted the volcanic Mo lian islands, legendarily the realm of storms, the kingdom of JEolus and home of Vulcan. A heavy cloud which we thought might be smoke, recalled the strange phenomenon sometimes witnessed in that region, of subterranean fires seemingly seething and glowing in the midst of water. The sea proved more friendly than on our voyage southward. At daybreak we came in sight of " calm-waiting Capri," and soon after were running into the bay of Naples. Of the picture upon which we looked as we entered the bay, no pen can make an adequate memorandum ; indeed I doubt if its subtilties would yield themselves even to the more cunning hand of Art. In our wake, darkness struggled with the encroaching light ; sud denly the stars disappeared from the sky, and there was a faint reddening in the east, which soon be- came brilliant enough to reveal the sombre, heavy 176 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. outlines of Vesuvius. From the volcano's summit an immense cloud of smoke rose darkly, sending out a long frowning streak of blackness southward. When the sun rose, a gigantic purple shadow, pro- jected by. the mountain, strode across the plain and dipped its head in the sea; a moment after, the long mourning pennon, now stretching from Torre Annunziata to Sorrento, began to brighten, the illu- mination continuing and spreading, till not only it, but the whole smoke-wreathed crest, was changed into flame, and one saw that the seemingly striped ribbons thrown from the summit adown the moun- tain's sides, were streams of lava, streaked here and there with nature's healing touches. It was one of the few scenes, the strangeness and beauty of which will keep themselves intact amid thousands of tour- ists' remembrances. XVI. POMPEII TO SORRENTO. On the morning of the second day after our arrival in Naples, we took the early train to Pompeii — for every traveller feels that he must see the city whose "night of terror" has held captive the imagination of centuries. After leaving the crowd- ed suburbs, we ran along a coast as beautiful as if adorned for a festival of "rare delights," crossed the huge lava-stream of 1794, which is forty feet thick and two thousand feet broad, and made a halt at Torre del Greco, a town built on a lava-stream of 1631. It has been so many times destroyed and rebuilt, that there is a Neapolitan saying, " JSTapoU fa i peccati e la Torre li paga." After Torre del Greco, there were several small villages from which we saw fishing-boats going out, and the foaming waves, dipping their beaded crests to the toilers of the sea, coming in. And we discovered that Vesu- vius, not yet cured of her fiery headache, had swathed 178 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. her huge temples with massed folds of white cloud- drapery. Dismounting at the Pompeii station, we encountered certain embassaic innocents, ready to escort us across the fields to the Hotel Diomed, but of whose services we had no need, for it was plainly to be seen on the hillside not a hundred yards off. There we procured tickets and a guide. It seemed fitting that we should enter the dead city by a street of tombs. We sat down beside that of the priestess Mamia, feeling how strange was the dreary stillness, the lifeless melancholy that pervaded all. The impression was the more penetrating and eloquent, because of the fresh roses clustered about urns, the ineffable brightness of sun and sky, and the glorious sea and mountain perspective. The un- roofed buildings, the broken doorways and arches, the crumbling walls, the many prostrate and frag- mentary columns, were what we expected; but how narrow were the streets, how small the squares, how meagre the spaces allotted to the dwellings! The traveller who has built his Pompeii after the model of novelists and other writers, has a disappointment in regard to its size to overcome before he can yield himself to a contemplation of its actual wonders. But this done, he wanders up and down its public ways finding endless material for thought— 7 data from which to reconstruct its life, and revelations which POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 179 perchance make known to him some of the secrets of its tragic fate. Life, although far from Homeric, was evidently simple; great traffic there could not have been, de- spite the deep furrows worn by cart-wheels; and few were the industrial or mechanical pursuits, judging from utensils, fabrics, and furnishings. The nine- teenth century raves over Pompeian lamps and gob- lets, but not because they are of elaborate work- manship. The foot-pavements are raised, and at the crossings are large stepping-stones to insure dry-shod passing in rainy weather. Private life was measur- ably merged in public, or at least was unimportant ; else why such small habitations ! — even that of the great Sallust is on a very limited scale. But small as they are, their clisposings are elegant. In the centre is a garden-like court with a fountain enclosed by a columned portico; on either side of the court are inner chambers, saloon, dining-room, and bed- rooms (in these last, it puzzles one to see how the occupants could have disposed themselves); and in front is the entrance room or shop, perhaps, for the sale of grain, oil and wine. In the more pretentious houses even, there is no rearing of story above story, but the different floors, if they may be so called, are spread on the ground, and usually rearward from the street. This arrangement, while it probably or- 180 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. iginated in the known instability of the soil, allowed great freedom in the distribution of columns and porticos, and in the number of fountains, both for use and ornament. The floors are inlaid with mo- saics, which in many cases are uninjured; those of fanciful designs we thought less delicate and beau- tiful than those of white marble grounds dotted reg- ularly with black. Much has been written of the frescoes, of their ingenuous grace and ideal beauty; they have been called the " glorifying splendors of the citizens' heaped up riches." While they retain a wonderful vividness of hue, a certain charming airiness, and often great vigor of action, their principal interest for us lay in what they revealed of the private life of antiquity. To our modern eyes they display greater corruption in morals than skill in art* It is true that mural painting was done as often by artisans as artists. The subjects are taken from the common avocations of life, representing ordinary attitudes, or else from the fables of the gods, such as were best suited to the soft, sensuous life of Pompeii — Venus and Adonis, Ariadne discovered by Bacchus, and those frequent bathers, Diana and her Nymphs. The last do not confine themselves to the Thermas by any means, but in any chance place, advertise the bathing propensities of the Pompeians. The bath- POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 181 houses were also gymnastic institutions, their cupid- covered cornices and richly medallioned vaults not only indicate the desire that they should be pleasant places of resort, but also a voluptuous sentimental- ism that delighted in supple muscles and polished cuticles. The forum, a large open space, is paved with im- mense blocks of travertine, and surrounded by deep, shady arcades. On the south side are traces of a double row of Ionic columns; and in various places are remains of pedestals (numbering some twenty- five) which probably supported colossal statues. Into the forum converged six of the principal streets; on it opened the halls of justice, the temples, and the house of Eumachia. Being the place of council, here congregated priests and senators, patricians and ple- beians. Overlooking it were the divinities who, in the primitive ideas of the people, ruled their destiny ; thus it was the centre of faith, and sacred in the eyes of the citizen. To him, it was the heart of the city, the place where he felt the throbbing pulse of what he called Ms country — that silent, nameless something of himself rooted into the soil, over which he watched, and which he felt watched and pro- tected him. At the summit of the hill was the theatre; the seats may have been of Parian marble, as stated 182 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. by the guide; we could see for ourselves that the view was glorious — Vesuvius and the sea were in front, and through the roof-opening the radiant blue heavens were visible. In the structures of Pompeii there is a notable absence of marble, the columns being usually of tufa rock or some composition cov- ered with stucco. The few marble remains proba- bly belong to a Pompeii more ancient even than that destroyed by the fury of the mountain in 97 a. d. The amphitheatre, where it is supposed the peo- ple were gathered and received the first warning of the impending catastrophe, has little stately mag- nificence or ruin-left grandeur, when compared with the Coliseum at Ptome or the Arena at Verona. Bul- wer must have dreamed out his Pompeian Amphi- theatre to suit his convenience; he never saw it on the slope at the foot of Vesuvius. In com- mon with all arenas, it has the indelible impress of competitions in brute force — the purplish red stain, or seal of antiquity ! Having the sea in front and the mountain in the background, it is the spot where, perhaps more vividly than elsewhere, the imagina- tion conjures up the scenes of the most fearful of tragedies — the advancing torrent of fire; the black, ashy, suffocating air; the terror of the people hur- rying to the shore; and Pliny, that he may witness the wonderful phenomenon, coming over from Baias. POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 183 In the dark "underground vaults of the Villa of Diomed, one sees on the ash-baked walls the imprints of the bodies of those who, seeking shelter there, were surrounded and suffocated by the floods of inpouring lava. To-day Diomed's gardens are as full of bloom, and ivies climb as freely over walls, as when a generation — for centuries forgotten — en- joyed their beauty and inhaled their sweetness. The guide insisted on showing us the casts taken from moulds formed in the hardened lava by the bodies of other victims of the wrathful storm of fire. At the time they were discovered, the flesh had wasted away, leaving only bones in the hollows. These figures reveal how hard it was for some to die, how they writhed and wildly threw their arms about, and how others stoically yielded to their fate, and left a stern rigid resignation imprinted upon the features. We looked, but turned quickly away; sweeter than the struggle of life and death were the fields and the perfume of flowers ! Once more on our way, we could hardly rid our selves of the thought that the region was still shaky, and that uncomfortable fires might break out in un expected places. An Englishman in our carriage seemed to be almost "undone" on the subject of volcanoes; he had ascended Vesuvius, Etna, and Stromboli, not to mention a half dozen more in 184 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. India, and other parts of Asia. His only regret in life was that he could not have witnessed the wonderful eruption of Mauna Loa, in the Hawaiian Islands in 1859, when the lava stream ran fifty miles in eight days. The warm, sheltered plain toward Castellamare was full of promise for the laborers, and there were many. Occasionally we saw a cart-full — which means as many as can hang on, ten or fifteen — going to, or returning from the fields ; and if it was not a fancy of ours, the type of faces had changed since leaving Naples, — the features were longer, more purely Gre- cian. Castellamare occupies the site of ancient Stra- bia; it was here that Pliny perished when Strabia and Pompeii were both destroyed. From Castella- mare we proceeded by carriage, keeping close to the shore, the road cut into the rocks forming a cornice-like way. On one side huge masses, fallen from the overhanging cliffs into the sea, made an irregular fret-wall for the besieging waters, which changed their hues according to the shifting influ- ences of light and depth, — being one moment of a transparent emerald, the next flashing with a white diamond brilliancy; noAV reflecting amethys- tine tints, and then deepening into a dark, shadowy blue. On the other side, the mountains rose steeply, with shadowed pinnacles, rent sides, and far pro- POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 185 jecting crags, looking like a line of ruined for- tresses, anct to our fancy still trembling and totter- ing from Vesuvius' last thunder shake. Between Seiano and Punta di Scutola, our prog- ress was arrested by a washout in the road. Had the overfull streams consulted us, they could not have chosen a spot more exactly suited to our minds for a row. There was a scrambling among the boat- men for passengers, a ringing and jingling of a not unmusical jargon, and soon, impelled by a light oar- stroke, we were gliding over the then waveless waters, looking down into their blue depths for coral, — and there we saw it, bright pink coral ! At the summit of Punta di Scutola, the beauty of the road seemed to culminate, the Capo di Sor- rento forming with it the amphitheatre-like enclos- ure of a brilliant, luxuriant plain. As we descended toward Meta, we looked down on either side into deep gorges, filled with peach-bloom and myrtles, violets and primroses, rare and delicious odors as- sailing us on every hand. Entering upon the Piano di Sorrento, with its olive plantations and orange groves, its mulberry trees and high laurels, we were sure we had reached the land for which Mig- non, Goethe's sweet type of all exiles, so longed and sighed, — the land where the " soft wind breathes from the blue heavens, and the silent myrtle and 186 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. high laurel stand." Kennst die das ? Every step was a new revelation — a challenge to test our sense of the beautiful to the utmost. Finally cross- ing a bridge at the corner of which stands the an- cient and battered San Antonio, his brown stone vestments changed into bronze by the slanting sunbeams, we were thankful to find ourselves shut in between high walls. The long intricate streets of Sorrento ended, for us, at an arched gateway opening into an orchard of orange and lemon trees, with dark, lustrous leaves, ancl in the full luxury of ripe fruit; and a walk outlined by blooming rose- tree hedges led us to Villa Nardi, the wished-for goal of many a traveller. Leaving the arranging for rooms and the other et ceteras of arrival to hands more competent than mine, I passed through a side- door, down a few steps, and stood upon a terrace overhanging the sea, guarded by a low parapet and battered antique busts. There, too, were laurels and immortelles, geraniums and passion vines, olive trees from whose stems long sprays of tea-roses were swinging in the wind, and low down, on the very edge, pansies for thoughts. The bay of Naples seemed to be wholly embraced by mountains, the view on the left being filled up by the mountainous islands of Ischia and Procida, and Vesuvius, al- though directly in front of me, forming the right POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 187 mountain flank. Leaning over the parapet and look- ing down more than two hundred feet, I saw an opening just under me, at the water's edge, and knew that there was the grotto of the Sirens. Light shadows lay upon the "deep's untrampled flow," and for full many a league old Ocean smiled back at me ! XVII. SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. At Sorrento the traveller is spellbound, — eats ob- livious lotus, listening to the songs of a Siren — the one who lies in his laurel-shaded tomb at Posilipo. Poets have thrown a fairy veil over the whole re- gion; out of the rocky promontories, wave-washed caverns, and lofty, glittering heights, they have wrought wondrous fables and romances. As far back as the days of Joshua, the coast was called in the Hebrew tongue "The Song of Lamenta- tions." A later, and perhaps quite as poetic period, under the same inspiration, has peopled the land to suit its own strange sweet fancies. It is difficult to say in what lies the special fas- cination of Sorrento; its climate is delicious, the variations never reaching extremes; its sea and sky dipped in the same celestial azure, are a con- tinual delight; while the radiant and transforming quality of its sunshine woven into the medium-like SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 189 atmosphere clothes all with a tissue vesture of gold. Its forms harmonize, seeming to have come to a stand-still in the beauty of perfect repose — a beauty that affects one like the face of Antinous, making the soul yearn for that something in Eden lost, hear the voice of prophecy in the air, and weep from excess of joy. The town is built on the coast, where the rocks fall steeply into the sea, and running back, spreads itself over the spurs pushed down from a torn and seamed background of hills. It is divided by a great ravine, nearly a mile long, famous as the once dwelling-place of some of the powers of evil. Looking into its twilight depths, filled with luxuri- ant masses of foliage and the odor of opening buds and blossoms, one would never suspect the cause of its notoriety were it not for the little shelves on the sides for the lamps formerly kept burning there to frighten away the gnomes and goblins, or whatever said powers were called. We are inclined to think that the erection of a mill in the bottom of the ra- vine has been beneficial in finally driving them away; certain it is that they are no friends of prog- ress, and generally disappear before an advent of unusual activities or an influx of new ideas. The Greeks dotted the Sorrentine headland with temples and set up their divinities; after them came 190 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACE. the Komans and did likewise ; and we in our walks came upon the ruins of these temples, showing where a people sitting in darkness once prayed and made sacrifices and thank-offerings. Ever and anon we paused and wondered if their faith was anything more to them than a sentimental dream — if they loved, suffered and died under its strange sanc- tions ? — and were thankful that we were " born into the world after and not before the star was seen in Bethlehem." Sometimes our walks led us down to the Marina under the cliff, where it is said that those who dig for them find sunken foundations and the remains of palace walls. We found only fishermen's wives weaving nets, and a boat shipping oranges, and were told that once a road ran along the entire coast, close upon the water's edge, but that it had gradually disap- peared, the rocks breaking off from time to time and filling it up. Save II Deserto, which overlooks a world of en- chantment, or the crest above Meta with its sup- pressed convent, and its little ruin telling of a religion far older than that of the convent, we found no place that had more subtile fascinations than our Villa Nardi. Scarcely a jarring sound from the outer world — suggestions of strife, or conflict of opinions — and only small hints of progress, penetrated its leafy SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 191 repose. History, too, hardly disturbs its sweet tran- quillity ; Saracen robberies, the advent of the French in the days of the Kepublic, Queen Joanna coming over from Naples with her waywardness and wicked- ness, have left only the most shadowy traces. Our room was in the top of the house, just over the one in which the author of "Agnes of Sorrento" found inspiration and adorned the lovely maiden for "pre- sentation." Lifting our eyes, we could see Vesuvius across the bay, a long white plume floating from his crest, or, if at night, it might be a stream of lava flowing down his sides; into the window, borne on the still air, came odors shaken from orange trees and the mystery folded in spring-time blossoms; while if we listened, we heard the light waves beat- ing gently on the rocks below — that pulsing, throb- bing, almost sobbing of the sea, which has in it something both of pathos and of peace. The morning after our arrival, we unwittingly strayed into the Villa garden, and found ourselves in the midst of odd surprises and strange caprices, quiet shady nooks and open sunny spaces, — with a pic- turesque "departure" in a cosey ruin, covered with ivy, which hid the secrets of its past, — and a little gem of a cottage, where a king slept once upon a time, if we may believe "la padrona" whom we met at the cottage door. She gave us a basket and 192 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. bade us "Go fill it with oranges," indicating where the largest and sweetest were to be found. Walking down the winding foot-path, we soon came where thick green boughs interlacing formed a lustrous archway, from which branches depended, bent down with the weight of their fruit — a great golden dazzle before our eyes ! We had thought that we had seen fine oranges before, but at once knew we had been mistaken: we now believe that there are no such oranges in the world as we saw in the garden of "Tromontone." Beyond the garden is a suppressed monastery, which belongs to "Tromontone," — at least the guests of the Villa Nardi have the freedom of it. The brotherhood was moved by the usual happy inspiration of monkish orders in the selection of a site for isolation from the world. It would have been well if by any arrangement this old castle-like structure could have been "The house where Tasso was born." It has a large measure of aptitudes for historic interests, — its rugged solidity, low archways and fantastically wrought sculptures, its secluded balcony looking Naples-ward, wondrous vistas play- ing with every shade of blue beyond rock-bound islands, and in the background interlapping moun- tain ridges climbing heavenward. But only monkish legends cling to its enchanting ways, only ghosts of SORRENTO AND THE AZZTJRA GROTTO. 193 monks may wander through its desolate corridors and along its narrow terrace, penetrated by the underswell sounds — the old "shadow songs" — of the sea. We never encountered any of the unsubstantial brotherhood, although we often spent hours on the terrace after nightfall. The Albergo del Tasso is pointed out as the place where the poet ivas born. It is a little curious how easily houses are furnished for the birth needs of such celebrities, — with a sort of "on demand" readi- ness which in itself tends to throw on them a shade of suspicion. It now matters little which of the places making the claim really witnessed the into-life advent of the deeply wronged Torquato. More inter- esting to us was the fact, that, returning after long years of cruel and unworthy imprisonment, he was received somewhere in the tranquil, soothing loveli- ness of the Sorrentine coast by a faithful, loved, and loving sister. It is a mystery how we ever got away from Sor- rento, or it would be, did we not reflect that it was our intention, when we left, to return the same even- ing. The morning had been pronounced superb for Capri and the Azzura Grotto, — therefore we sought the sanctum of "Tromontone" and demanded a boat, — a good sized sail, well manned and equipped. The cliff of the Villa Nardi seems to have been chis- 194 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. elled to a perpendicular, so precipitously does it sink to the water line. The way down to the sea is by broad interior stairways, which lead one through cor- ridors, galleries, and vaulted passages, all cut into the solid rock. Toward the sea are arched openings and small landings protected by parapets, whence perchance were once witnessed the departure of gay and brilliant retinues, or the manoeuverings of the Roman fleet going to, and returning from conquests: certainly they are not of recent origin, for they are worn as if by the tread of ages. On the Villa Nardi terrace were some beautiful Sorrentine girls, of whom we bought pretty ribbon neckties, such as are manufactured in the vicinity of the town. It is a pity that the climate, so beneficent in other matters, should not preserve the beauty of these girls. How ever fatal it may be as a gift, while it lasts (and strange tales are told of the infatuation of adventur- ous travellers, particularly of young scions of noble English houses), it soon passes away. With girl- hood all traces of beauty are gone; and the old women are supremely ugly — angular, black and shrivelled like mummies. Emerging from the cavern-like passage at the base of the cliff, w r e found our boat waiting, but between us and it were several yards of unstable surf, with six men in red flannel shirts, and the always Phryg- SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 195 ian cap, standing knee-deep therein. Before one could guess how the embarkation was to be accom- plished, he was seized by a pair of strong arms and borne unharmed to the boat. As there was not breeze enough for sails, the rowers, taking long- sweeps, bent silently to the oars, and the laughing waters encircled us with tossed crests of starry radiance. In the early morning the Sorrentine coast lies in shadow; the cut and torn face of the cliffs, the hand- some villas, white convents, luxuriant gardens and groves, the wild wooded mountains above, are seen in clear, perfect outlines, with garniture of strangely wondrous beguilements of color and fine-strung har- monies. My companions set their faces seaward, but it was impossible for me to take my eyes from the glorious vision of the mainland. I let it sink deep into my soul, trying thereby to grasp a memory that should be ineffaceable — a literal "joy forever!" How beautiful it all was, and is, no mortal may know who has not seen it! Nowhere, perhaps, does one yield himself more readily to the illusions of the Greeks than on this delightful shore. It is easy to believe in the benefi- cent iEolus, and the loving Athena; and it must be the Sirens who lure travellers hither and make them forget their longings and life-wasting heart-sick- 196 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. nesses. We were soon carried past the ruined tem- ple of Hercules, standing on a storm-beaten head- land, and the village of Massa, up among the trees a little distance from the shore. Rounding the Min- ervian promontory, we struck into the open sea, and saw the cliffs of breezy Capri, illumined by the morn- ing sun, rising from the bosom of the azure gulf. A moment after, the silence and dreamy forgetfulness that had fallen upon us were broken. Our boatmen, beginning with a low, sweet prelude, which gradu- ally grew stronger, finally launched out into the loud, swelling strains of a Sorrentine hymn, — one that we had sometimes heard at evening-tide, an in- vocation to their patron saint, San Antonio, — the light stroke of the oars and the sound of the sea, furnishing a minor-keyed accompaniment. Arrived at the Marina of the island, we did not land, but were transferred to a smaller boat, for it was to see the Azzura Grotto that we had voyaged to Capri. Keeping close to the base of the cliffs, we soon saw the bold point of Damecuta, above the sil- ver gray of olive slopes. Beneath was an opening in the sea-wall, but so small that we had no suspicion that it was the entrance to the Grotto. A retreating wave cleared its throat, however — our boat was shoved in, and the returning sea sent us far into a cavern, where no winds ever come, nor the glare of the sun- SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 197 light, and where the sound of the outer ocean becomes an indistinct, mournful murmur. As the eye grew ac- customed to the obscurity, the vaulted roof, tinted by a reflection from the opening, the undulating sur- face of the water bent into innumerable slight curves, and the white sand, or mother of pearl, whichever it may be, fathoms below, became visible. The chief attraction of the Grotto, that from which it receives its name, is its color, the general tone being blue, but varying from the faintest to the deepest shades. If one penetrates to the recesses on the further side of the Grotto and turns his back on the single opening through which light comes, he perceives a change of color ; lilacs stray ofT into shadowy places, where they deepen into violet-purples, and now and then the edge of a distant wave seems to catch a rose tint. Dipping our hands in the water and scattering the drops, they fell back in phosphorescent jewels and glittering garlands of silver. It was perhaps in this " cave of the sea " that the Sirens obtained the gems with which they decked themselves to allure unwary mariners. The rock forms, above the water, are ir- ■regular, in places stalactite,- while below, the lines are wavelike, with horizontal grooves where moss grows; and far down at the base are shells and rare corals. We did not explore the distant chambers, but taking advantage of a full wave were borne out 198 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. into the white daylight. It was too late to return that evening; and so we got away from Sorrento without intending it; else we might be biding there still, and in thought forsaking our homes forever. We opine that there are more beautiful things in Capri than the Azzura Grotto. XVIII. CAPRI AND NAPLES. The wonders of Capri are not found in either blue or green grottos, but in its manifold outward forms, and the infinite play of color upon its ever-blooming gar- dens and rocky mountain walls. Among its chief attractions are the lofty heights whence may be seen how the waves pour into the bay of Naples, how they besiege in alternate combat and sportive jest the mainland Cape Minerva, and how great ships, ploughing through the blue waters, come from France, the African coast, and the far East. The island rises perpendicularly, from nine hun- dred to nineteen hundred feet, out of the Gulf of Salerno, presenting smoothfaced escarpments, vary- ing lines of pyramidal and pinnacled cuts, and arches and grotto openings fringed with stalactites. So worn is the water-line of its rocks by a thousand years' beating of waves, that huge cliffs overhang the sea like baseless fabrics of dreams; beneath them 200 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. flash emerald fires, and the ocean's mighty swell keeps to its eternal idyl. The central mountain wall runs north and south, and extends quite to the shores, where it breaks off suddenly, leaving its ex- tremities gable-shaped; if one chooses, he may fancy they look like shattered cathedral fronts. Toward the west, the coast sinks amphitheatre-like, its cres- cent range of terraces loaded with olive trees, while a little further, two ravines rend the shore wall, ex- posing the heart-secrets of the island; the torn sides soothed by the sweetness and exquisite beauty of daisy-stars, myrtles, and anemones. At the north- western extremity are three deserted batteries and a lighthouse. It was here that Murat landed when he stormed and took the midway-between-sea-and- sky Anacapri; how he accomplished the brilliant coup-de-main, is as incomprehensible to an observer of the spot, to-day, as it appears to have been to the English in 1808. Although the western half of Capri attains a much greater height than the eastern, the coast scenery of the latter far surpasses that of the former in grand- eur. The Marina Piccola, a small cove between two boldly projecting precipices, is a wild spot, haunted with gloom and the hoarse cry of sea-gulls. The crenelated walls of the Castello, a thousand feet above, seen in sharp outlines against the sky, and CAPRI AND NAPLES. 201 the inaccessible cones of the Faraglioni with a gleam of sunlight upon their dull gray-red, rising in the distance, relieve somewhat its wonted dreary aspect ; while a few olive-groves on a near mountain spur indicate where cultivation and the lovely Yal Tra- gara begin on the southern slope. During storms, the waves seize upon and carry off sometimes the few huts stuck among the rocks. In fair weather the air is still, and the place offers a warm shel- tered retreat for coral fishermen. Later in the sea- son, quails returning from a more southern wintering, make it one of their resting stations, — unfortunately for themselves, because they are often detained to supply a demand of the Naples market. Between Monte Tuoro and II Salto, a gigantic arch crowns a piled-up mass of colossal cliffs. It is one of Nature's Titanic triumphs, the portal being eighty feet in height, with open windows on either side; and adorned with wind and wave wrought relievos, shelving pediments and Gothic-like pinnacles. If one comes from the land side, looking through a floor-way of rocks in chaotic disorder, he sees an underflow of water, the deeper and bluer for its sunlessness, and also the vast opening of the mar- vellous archway against a background of ocean and solitude. In the shadows of the overhanging brink, leaning over the side of our idly drifting boat, we 202 A NEW TREAD 18 AN OLD TRACK. sought for purple growing sponges, and heard the while a wild refrain mingling with the sound of the wind, — perchance the song of the Sirens whose three islands we could see not far away. The town of Capri is on a crest between the north- ern and southern shores, almost under the shadows of the central dividing wall. It has no architectural interest ; but its domed roofs, grape-vine shaded ve- randas, and gardens with palm-trees, are pleasant sights. Travellers find the way to the town rough and fatiguing, but the light, elastic-footed island maidens climb it easily: they go up and down, laughing and chattering; making nothing of its ruggedness, or of the loads of luggage which they carry on their heads, or of others of stones, boards, and casks, which they sometimes carry. The Ca- prian type of beauty is more Grecian even than that of the peninsula, the brow is low and the nose straight, the complexion sun-dyed, rather than olive, and there is a rich crimson on lips, and in the flush of cheeks. The most famous place on the island is the height of the eastern headland. Here, through airy golden distances, one sees the snow-crested mount of Sant. Angelo, across the gulf Amalfi, pressed against the rocks of a gorge, and thence the whole beautiful coast as far as the Calabrian cape Nicosa, the per- CAPRI AND NAPLES. 203 spective enlarged by the undulating glow of the sea's amethystine and sapphire hues. This height is the site of the once Villa Jovis of Tiberius. If the visitor sits down to dream, his imagination is soon lost, not only in what has been, but in what might be, for the place is infinite in possibilities, and to a dreamer the field of opportunities is al- ways blossoming. The memory of Tiberius attaches itself to everything in the island, even to the nam- ing of one of its wines, but it more particularly in- fests this spot, because it was from the cliff, II Salto, that he compelled his victims to leap into the sea, seven hundred feet below. Everywhere nature en- deavors to obliterate the stain of his profanations, the recitals of which are fitly confined to a dead language. She strews flowers over the places that suggest him, and in their sweetness and beauty, the delight of gardens and vineyards, and the magnificence that fills the vision on every hand, history is forgotten. Over the edge of II Salto nung fine rock jonquils and delicate tinted violets, which a venturous Englishmen sought to reach, but becoming conscious of the horrors of the depth be- low, he resigned them, with no other loss than that of his hat. It was so long afloat in the air that we never knew if it reached the bottom : a stone thrown from the brink sent back no report of progress in 204 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. less than twenty seconds. Not many paces distant, we found the ruins of Villa Jovis, remains of mar- ble columns, stucco walls, and a corridor paved with mosaics. While seeking to trace the general plan of the structure, we perceived that black clouds had in- vaded the blueness of the heavens, and that on the sea were heavy bodeful shadows. There was a gleam of lightning, a peal of thunder, and then a furious gust of wind blustered round the headland. Small boats, that a moment before were dozing on the tranquil bosom of the deep, dipped their sails, and made for the sheltering coves of the mainland. The edges of the rain clouds bent dowm to the up- lifted waves of the sea, and, like a phalanx of the daughters of Nereus, joined by the sons of iEolus, steadily advanced upon us. The fury of the storm gathered about the island; upheaving waters in frenzied rage dashed against its rocky sides, while in cavern depths reverberating sounds of thunder responded to mighty peals rolling about lofty cliffs. Not wishing to follow the Englishman's hat over the rampart, we finally sought refuge in the little chapel of Santa Maria del Soccorso, built on the summit of the headland, where there is also a her- mitage and a good-natured friar. When storms set toward II Salto, the friar tolls the bell of this chapel to warn sailors of the dangerous cliff; so it was not CAPRI AND NAPLES. 205 long before to the other sounds of the tempest was added that of the tolling bell. On the highest table-land of the western part of the island is the village of Anacapri. It was for- merly reached by a stairway of five hundred and sixty steps, cut in the solid rocks, the overhanging sides protected by a parapet, while there were fre- quent landing-places for fatigued and poetic climb- ers. What magnificent pictures the handsome wo- men and girls must have made in those days, grouped on the landings, or going up and down the rocky stairways, with pitchers, bundles of drift- wood, or other burdens on their heads! The new road is not wholly prosaic, for it has fine outlooks, and the usual mode of making the ascent is not without picturesque accessories. The traveller must have not only a donkey — the one animal suited to the steepness of the road — but he must have a muletress; and he can choose a pretty one if he likes — one with a soft voice and great black eyes. It is said that because of a purer Hellenic origin, the Anacapri beauties are handsomer and prouder than these of lower Capri. They certainly have a more graceful, statuesque beauty, and their manners are more in keeping with such a claim than are those of their progressive sisters who live nearer the Marina. On the summit of Monte Salaro, which 206 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. is the highest point on the island, lives the hermit of Anacapri. Here within reach of the clouds, and in sight of the grandest spectacles of nature, he passes all the days of his life. His days are lon- ger than other men's; he sees the first indications of their beginning — the first gleam of dawn be- yond the Apulian Mountains — and the last rays of the sun before he plunges into the night of the western Mediterranean. If Caprians are simpler and more superstitious than their neighbors of the mainland, they are also more religious. At church and in processionals, their demeanor is grave and reverent. The Madonna del Carmine, the patron saint of the coral-fisher, is an object of especial veneration. To her good offices are attributed all deliverances from perils by sea, particularly those of fishermen; consequently her festas are many and brilliant. On the deck of the steamer by which we came to Naples, while waiting the arrival of our Blue Grotto passengers, we saw the Tarantella. The dancers kept time to the music of a tambourine and guitar, weaving picturesque representations of a passionate wooing, drifting through the varied phases of its jealousies and raptures. The beauty and natural- ness of their movements, and certain graces of pose, reminded us of the popular legend regarding this CAPRI AND NAPLES. 207 dance. The Sirens, desiring a new gift from the Graces, were taught the Tarantella; but the sea- women soon found that it was not suited to their forms, and in despair gave it up (killed themselves, according to one version). The fishermen's daugh- ters who lived on the shore had seen it as danced by the Sirens, and betaking themselves to remote places in the mountains, practised it. The Graces seeing how well it suited the lithe maidenly figures, lent their aid, and added thereto certain new charms. It was not long before the daughters of all the coasts in this region had learned the joy -inspiring dance. But the bright-eyed beauty of Capri will tell you that you cannot see the Tarantella with its " Bold ire, dohi sdegni, e dohi pad " anywhere but in Capri. If there is a noisier town than Naples, we have yet to find it. Walking through the streets for the first time, one naturally thinks that the inmates of some lunatic asylum are abroad, for if there is an idler who chances to have no companion, he talks noisily to himself. The Neapolitans are too nearly Greeks not to be noisy and loquacious; when to these individual traits are added the clamor and bustle of traffic, and of thousands of organ-grinders and puppet-players, the confusion becomes intoler- able. Even the bells are noisier in Naples than elsewhere. The only quiet place to be found during 208 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the day is the Villa Reale, a garden-like promenade skirting the shore. Within a few feet of you, the sea breaks in foaming crests upon a sandy beach, where you see the moving shadows of a long line of trees. Through the foliage appears Vesuvius and a neighboring mountain, both of a pale violet hue, and above the level of the Villa, beyond intervening gardens and the flat roofs and balconies of the palaces of the Riviera di Chiaja, are heights on which are churches, monasteries, and castles. There are Greek temples and copies of some of the finest productions of the chisel scattered through the grounds; and fountains (often not musical for the want of water) are at the crossings of the footways. A beautiful feathery palm stands at the entrance of the so-called temple of Virgil, a structure wholly unworthy its position and object. The temple of Tasso on the opposite side of the main walk is scarcely an improvement. Keeping westward from the Villa and ascending a steep zigzag pathway, one passes through an old dilapidated gateway on the left, and reaches the so- called tomb of Virgil. It matters not that the ashes of the poet have not been there since the 15th cen- tury (if indeed they ever were); so long as there are those who read the iEneid and Georgics, the hillside above the Grotto of Posilippo will bear the CAPRI AND NAPLES. 209 foot-print of the pilgrim. Virgil, if not regarded in exactly the same way as during the Middle Ages, continues to be the enchanter of the Neapolitan coast. Nothing of the melancholy sentiment that clings to many heroic bards attaches itself to him. He knew what it was to have an Emperor for his friend, and to be conscious in his lifetime that he had attained immortality. XIX. IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. If one is seeking fair promises for the future of Italy, he must visit the Protestant schools of Naples, where he will find the generation that some day is to govern the land. Many of the peculiar difficulties encountered in the founding of these schools have been overcome. Priestly interference, however, con- tinues to be a source of annoyance in spite of the friendly offices of the government. The craftiness of Rome finds means of disturbance and hindrance more hurtful than its former rude interruptions and open persecutions. The children of these schools are principally from the lower classes, but with few exceptions, they have good faces, and evince more than ordinary capacities, responding correctly and without hesita- tion to the questions put to them. In the higher grades, they are taught geography, mathematics, history, and drawing. History seems to be the fa- IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 211 vorite study of the older boys; one of them recited for us a passage from Roman history, with an inter- est and enthusiasm, worthy the belief that they were " Romans all," and I suspect that he did labor under that impression. The copy-books shown us, were marvels of neatness — a quality seemingly alien to Italian habits, and there was a perfectness in lines and strokes that would be looked for in vain in the same grade of schools elsewhere. The drawing- books reminded us that Italy is still the school of forms, real if not ideal. There were few attempts at landscapes, only such as were needful to fill out the thought of a boy with his goat, a maiden at a wayside shrine, or a peasant leading his heavy-laden donkey down some rugged declivity. " Vedi Napoli e poi mori " can have no reference to the city itself, unless the proverb, oblivious of its original intent, be made to intimate that one might die of the wearying monotony of long lines of com- monplace looking structures, such as the repaired, seven-storied buildings of the Toledo, or the unat- tractive, flat -roofed, iron -balconied palaces of the Riviera di Chiaja. Fortunately, one may turn out from these streets, superb only in length and straightness, into little narrow by-streets, which, rising and falling steeply between high walls, are full of picturesque incidents, and afford the richest 212 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. local color. There are snrall shops, open stalls, and overhanging balconies filled with flowers, brilliant arrays of clothesline dependencies, groups of traf- fickers in cheap mosaics and coral necklaces, and musical trios taking their siestas, the idle guitar or tambourine supporting the head of the unconscious dozer. Mules, adorned with strings of buttons and tinkling bells, climb the rude stairways, also the goat-herd with his flock of milch-goats, returning from his daily route through the Toledo or other principal streets. Sailors, their eyes bright and fierce, their teeth dazzling, in flannel shirts and Phrygian caps, and women, whose beauty is certainly not Greek, in red shawls and violet or orange necker- chiefs, gesticulate and elbow one another with an in- finite waste of emotion and emphasis. Through an opening, one occasionally sees a handsome balustrade, a white colonnade, a columned terrace, or other in- dication of a sometime period of architectural gran- deur, and assigns it to the days of the Spanish dominion; for the Spanish grandee brought hither and w r rought into his structures the stateliness, grace and beauty of his Moorish culture. These admirable scenic effects, striking dramatic displays, and archi- tectural figures, have rich Rembrandtish backgrounds. Their tones are mellowed by the meagre light that falls between the almost meeting roof-projections IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 213 above, and the peculiar tenderness of the sky. They delight us especially by strange subtleties of contrast, ever-changing piquancies of color, and variety in detail of forms. It is- not to be denied that there is much filth, squalor and disorder, but these do not disturb the traveller of philosophic aptitudes. If we may read a people's past history in its museums, we may see its present spiritual condition in its churches. Gross sensuality and intense sen- sational superstition are the dominant expression of the churches of Naples, — of their coiffured Madonnas, altars loaded with jewelry, and pretentious archi- tectural decorations. The Cathedral, commenced in 1272, retains few of its original characteristics, hav- ing been materially altered in its frequent restora- tions. Beneath the high altar is the richly orna- mented shrine of the Neapolitan's patron saint, St. Januarius. The remains of the saint were deposited here during the plague of 1497. The offensiveness of Paganism in Catholicism, seen in many of the chapels of the Cathedral, is nowhere so prominent as in the relievos of the Font, a green basalt basin nearly covered with Bacchanalian thyrsi and masks. The chapel of St. Januarius is entered from the right aisle of the Cathedral. Here, three times an- nually, is wrought the great miracle, the liquefaction of the saint's blood. Not infrequently, on these oc- 214 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. casions, the wildest scenes are witnessed, particularly if the saint happens to be a little dilatory in his part of the performance. Then he is assailed by some of the throng with threats and reproaches, while others faint from the exhaustion of suspended ex- pectancy; a few, quaking and trembling with fear, take refuge in flight. The chapel is built in the form of a Greek cross, with eight altars and many fine columns of brocatello. It is marvellously rich in precious marbles, ornaments of gold, and frescos instinct with genuine feeling — a remnant of the genius and vigor of an undegenerate epoch. The bad taste of the present epoch culminates in the sculptured affectations -of the church of Santa Maria della Pietra, in the bedizened Madonnas, fashionably clothed saints, and labored allegories. Hour-glasses, skulls, and bloody stigmata, against gilding, polished marble, and Doric columns, however fitly suggestive, are inharmonious. In the midst of such a dazzling magnificence as is seen in this church, one is startled by the figure of a dead Christ, wrapped in a winding sheet, lying in the depths of a crypt, its ghastliness made more striking by the dim light of wax candles. If one visits the Convent of San Martino on a height overlooking the city, he finds himself in quite another atmosphere. In the elaborate architectural decorations are recognizable the purer aspirations of IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 215 the seventeenth century, animated by the more spirit- ual life of the preceding one. The figures, in general nobly formed, have an open-air freedom of movement and drapery that harmonizes admirably with lofty, broad spanned arches and stately columns. In the church there is an incredible accumulation of precious marble, while sculpture and painting have added all their possible graces and beauty. Of the almost numberless pictures, Spagnoletto's " Descent from the Cross" is the most wonderful in its intense, vision-like reality. The background is dark, mourn- ful, full of mystery and sympathy. The atmosphere seems to quiver as with the after palpitation of a sudden shock. The groups of figures are strangely awed, but not overcome, and are vigorous both in composition and action. The face of the Christ is in shadow, and in this and the superb head are centered the expression and power of His divinity. When the red silk hangings which protect the pic- ture are drawn aside, the sunlight falling upon it illuminates the foreground, which is warmed also by the reflection from the curtains, while the lugu- brious background retreats, if possible, into a deeper obscurity, intensifying the strong contrasts of light and shade, the subtleties and handling of which, few understood better than Caravaggio's pupil. The convent has many colonnaded courts; but 216 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. one, surrounded by white marble porticos, the pave ments bordered with shrubbery, and in the centre a cistern deep and clear, seemed to us especially beau- tiful. In the South one learns to appreciate the beauty of white marble; beneath an intensely blue sky, and set in a luminous atmosphere, it loses its coldness — its polish and whiteness become magnifi- cence. One of the finest and most extended views of the city and bay of Naples, we had from the ramparts of the Castle of St. Elmo which is above San Martino. The near mountain slopes were of perfect grace and the tenderest olive green ; beneath were the convent gardens, avenues of shady trellises, and now and then terraces with grand, isolated ■ trees. The city was spread fair and glittering at our feet, Posilipo with its violet chasms being on one hand, and on the other, purple mountain ridges reaching off toward Sorrento. The bending shore embraced the blue sea and the loveliest islands swimming in sunshine; Ischia and Procida are the jewels that "set off" the beauty of the bay of Naples. The warm golden light around us melted into azure in the distance, fold following after fold and losing itself in the impenetrable. The tourist wanders, day after day, through the "Museo Borbonico" of Naples, to discover at last IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 217 that he has made scarcely a beginning in the rinding out of its treasures. Perhaps nowhere else does the past, its history and art, become so palpably a seem- ing present, as in the midst of this multitude rescued from the charnel-house of time and chance, this host of white statues marshalled from the ideal ranks of antiquity. We see such youths as Charmides; stern Junos, immortal born; heroic, helmet clad Minervas; Jupiters, veritably gods, — the expressions of what Greek thought conceived to be supreme, physical, and moral truths. Here, too, we find remains of Pompeii and Herculaneum, mural decorations, speci- mens of architecture, and collections of ornaments once worn by belles and dignitaries. Of Roman art — if that may be so called, which closely follows the laws of Greek art — there are emperors of heroic forms and action, statesmen and orators worthy the fame of the Roman tribune, athletes wonderful in a beauty born of the gymnasium, and Roman matrons — Agrip- pinas — strong, energetic, and powerful. One may see here the changing thoughts of the national and in- dividual soul. He may read as in a book the history of the decline of Art — may begin with the highest purely Greek ideals which rejected everything but the most graceful in form and exalted in mood, and follow it through a gradual lessening of intellectual greatness and refinement, an increasing rudeness of 218 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. gifts and manners, and innovations of personal egot- ism, till it seemingly ends in mere portraiture. The Grotto Posilipo — only a narrow passage during the Middle Ages, arid by the people supposed to have been opened by a " magician " (Virgil) is now a noble and lofty arched tunnel, well lighted and ven- tilated. It was our good fortune to see it on one of those few days in March when it is resplendent, the sun being in such a position as to shine directly through its entire length. Beyond the Grotto, we entered upon an open country without finding its promised quiet, for we were immediately besieged by an army of guides from which it was impossible to free ourselves till we reached the coast four miles distant — the promontory of Coroglio. Here we saw opposite us Nisida, whither Brutus came after the murder of Caesar, and where he took leave of Portia before setting out for Philippi. Further on, sleeping in a dream woven of mist, we found the Puteoli of the Romans, where Paul, the chosen strong man of the Lord, landed — now Pozzuoli, a miserable vil- lage, filled with importunate beggars and disagree- ably officious ciceroni. The shore is strewn with the fragments of an era of splendor long since passed away. In imperial days, its harbor sheltered ships freighted with the treasures of Egypt, Arabia, and Syria, and the gently sloping hills in the background IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 219 were crowned with handsome villas. The famous tem- ple of Serapis was restored to something like its ear- liest grandeur, by Marcus Aurelius and Septimus Severus, and festive crowds thronged its courts and porticos. It is almost impossible to distinguish the original purposes of the many ruins found in and near Pozzuoli, so mutilated and submerged are they by the encroaching sea and volcanic eruptions. The amphitheatre, on an eminence behind the town, is one of the most extensive; it seated 30,000 people; the arena was 336 feet long, and 138 feet broad. In the vast subterranean passages lie massive prostrate columns, and along the walls hang pendant vines, from which the percolating water, as from Undine's garments, falls drop by drop. All sites of ancient Roman cities offer like remains of huge structures dedicated to gladiatorial scenes; death throes became the amusements of antiquity, for its life, degenerating, culminated in oppressive brutality and the thirst for blood. We went out of our way for a look at the Solfa- tara, the crater of a half extinct volcano, not far from Pozzuoli. The ground in the vicinity was warm, and seemed to us to be hollow. Through the oblong fissures, vaporous and sulphureous gases as- cended, while occasionally the surface spouted boil- ing water. We thought some of the crevices deep 220 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. enough to allow us a glimpse into the secrets of the volcano, but the perceptible shakiness under our feet soon determined us that we had business elsewhere. Near Monte Nuovo, the upheaval of an earth- quake of 1538, a road leading to the right takes the traveller along the northern slopes above Lake Avernus. The glamour of legend and magic is spread over the entire region. Here was enacted the grand historic Cumoean tragedy — the scenes that live in the iEneid and Odyssey. CumaB with her Grecian thought, culture, and refinement of manners, came to be the queen mistress of the coast. Scarcely a shadow of her remains; broken marble capitals are sometimes found beneath overgrowths of lupines and ivies, and flowers are gathered in the crevices of what are called fallen tombs. Here, by the shore of Avernus, the dread Sibyl, to whom the gods had granted countless years, but denied the gift of beau- ty, guarded the golden bough, and, powerful to un- veil the future, uttered her oracles. Hence were carried the new sibylline leaves that were delivered to Tarquinus Superbus from the summit of the Jan- iculum, near Rome. The grotto of the Sibyl, whence, according to Virgil, many voices resounded, is silent; the entrance to the " Lower Regions," which was "open day and night," if the Sibyl rightly informed iEneas, is now closed, and a fee demanded from IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 221 each person who is curious about what may be on the other side. Dark forests no longer overhang the lake, but there are large chestnut trees under which one may sit, and, looking into its smiling face, see the shadows of clouds, and listen to the low monotonous murmur of the waves, interrupted only by the occasional cry of some adventurous bird floating in the air above. Our excursion terminated with Baise, the once so- called "marble city by the soft sea." It wears now no holiday garb, and offers nothing of interest but its ruins and its magnificent bay. Sometimes the former extend quite into the billowy •blue; now it is a marvellously beautiful pavement and now the foundations of a villa or temple. Boys, ragged and sunburnt, brought us baskets full of fragments of marbles and mosaics, and when they found we would have none of them, they offered us pinks and roses. Weird, ugly-looking old women pro- posed to dance for us the tarantella, but, remem- bering the bright-eyed beauties of Capri, we de- clined their services. And now, the land of the myrtle and laurel, the Greece of Latium, ruin-strewn from Baiee to the city of fair Parthenope, is no longer for us a mere dream. XX. ROMAN CARNIVAL, TRAJAN'S FORUM, AND THE AVENTINE. The first suggestions of spring, the browns of the Pincio giving place to light greens, and the dark complexion of the borderways to perceptible varia- tions of bloom, came with the Roman festival — the Carnival. This holiday word, with us, has a mean- ing different from the Roman signification. We as- sociate it with balls and other gaieties that will yield large receipts for charities, especially charities for children. Not so the Roman; it is regarded sim- ply as a season in which to lay up an excess of pleas- ure, the pay-money in advance for the abstinences of Lent. Traditionally there was a time when the ten days of the Roman Carnival was really a merry season; when its approach was announced by heralds who rode magnificent, gaily caparisoned chargers, and bore gorgeous banners curiously devised; when the ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 223 Corso, swept and garnished, its palace walls hung with bright-colored tapestries, windows and cor- nices wreathed with garlands, and balconies rilled with animated spectators, looked like an enchanted festive hall. Then, Roman rank and beauty, duly masked, lent themselves to "the madder the mer- rier" spirit of the time, jested with cowls, laughed at dancing harlequins, and exchanged bright glances, bouquets, and billet-doux with the joy-riotous throng; and high dignitaries in Church and State, in sumptu- ous carriages, rolled through the streets, engaging in the fiercest combats of bonbons, and listening relishingly to the mirth-provoking plays of doctors, soothsayers, and shepherdesses. We returned to Rome only on the last day of the Carnival, but we saw enough of its spirit to know that the festival of the present keeps no truly merry nor brilliant traditional promises. Its inspi- rations, the native sans-souci of the Italian charac- ter, and the love of the intoxication of unrestrained revelry, have been lost in the rapid march of national progress. The people of the capital city regard them- selves as no longer children, but are not quite ready to put away all childish things. When they have found substitutes therefor, their lost loves will be replaced by their betters, more intellectual amuse- ments, and a love of work. 224 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Having hastily domiciled ourselves in our old quarters, we descended to the Corso. We wan- dered leisurely through its entire length, meeting crowds of masked and muffled people, but no might- be delightful heroines, nor probable over-brave cava- liers; and received, but not quite philosophically, a share, of the dense calcareous shower pouring down from the well-filled balconies. The scenic displays were certainly striking, but not picturesque, and the forms of jest were wholly unflavored with that light mockery and brilliant repartee, set down in our thoughts as especially carnivalesque. We should have done better to have followed the example of the Pope, and remained shut up in our palace. Oc- casionally there was a cry of " La Kegina," but we looked in vain for a face that might by any possi- bility be that of the lovely Margaret. With sunset the chalky rain of confetti ceased. Jovial students brought their varied exploits to a finis, and capering clowns cut short their tricks and jests. A Mephistopheles, clothed in the fiercest red, was unwittingly beguiled and led away by a ruddy, wine-pouring Ganymede, who was much too stout and ugly to have been the one intended to suc- ceed Hebe in Olympus. As the duskiness of the twi- light deepened, carriages and palace walls seemed to have received from the over-full heavens a sudden ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN's FORUM. 225 sprinkling of stars; the effect was so beautiful that we forgot our complaining retrospective compari- sons in an enchanted present delight. There was the increasing confusion of tongues, the thickening of the crowd, the added vigor in pushing and scram- bling, which always precede the peroration of the Carnival, the moccolo; then suddenly windows blazed with light, fantastic transparencies, hung from all available projections, and tall pyramids of flaming gas-jets sprang up at street corners and palace gateways. The ceasing of all order in driving is the usual signal for the final spectacle. The multiplication of sounds became more rapid, and the tumult more general. An immense illuminated car moved slowly through the throng, in the direction of the Porta del Popolo. From it went up in quick succession rockets, Koman candles, and other brilliant pyrotech- nic projectiles, but their beautiful combinations of color were nearly lost in a dim glare above the housetops, so limited was the range of the specta- tors' vision in consequence of the narrowness of the streets and the height of the buildings. Following and clinging to the moving magazine of fireworks, were certain seeming veritable imps, clad in intense flame-red, who leaped about in a gymnastic frenzy, and startled the crowd by throwing into its midst 226 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. lighted torches and yards of what looked like blaz ing ribbons. Each of the masked had his little moc- colo, and did his best to defend it. Now and then we encountered an enthusiastic and somewhat artis- tically dressed carnivaller, who held aloft a whole bouquet of burning tapers, which he found difficult to protect, as it was exposed to assaults from win- dows and balconies. When the cries of " Senza moccolo " and " Sia am- mazato cJii non porta moccolo" were at their noisiest, we non-revellers, unable to endure longer the deaf- ening din, left the Corso, and by the way of the piazza SS. Apostoli, sought the quieter region of the Forum Trajano. It was a sudden transition from gay to grave, to lean over the balustrade which surrounds the main excavation, and look down at the ghostly array in the depths below — the broken columns that guard the approach to the tomb. But in it we found full compensation: the air filled with the odor of spring prophecies, the pleasant movement of a gentle breeze, and the weird night solitude accentuated for us the fascinations of antique marbles. The scattered remains of ancient temples, the fallen porticos, the monument reared for him who was once so mighty, of whom Gibbon says, " He only made war to secure peace," had for us seemingly a new interest, and sent the fancy ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 227 backward in its flight, building out of the wide past a world of thought and feeling. They won us to an increased desire to study carefully their graven pages, for in such-like strong, broad-typed records, history becomes an appreciable reality. Much of the work of unearthing the Forum of Trajan, as well as that of other portions of long- buried Rome, was done by the French, when they were here trying to prop up the fast declining tem- poral power of the Pope; for which, despite the temporary stumbling-block they were to Italian lib- erty, we give them thanks. Research has brought to light no monument more beautiful than Trajan's Column, the work of the architect Apollodorus, and, according to an inscription upon the base, erected by the Roman Senate and people a. d. 114. It is one hundred and thirty feet in height, and is composed of thirty -four blocks of Carrara marble, carefully matched without and within. Few monuments ex- hibit to us more clearly the knowledge and skill attained by the Romans of the empire in mechanics and arts. It is of perfect proportions, and rises with imperial grace from among the serried rows of frag- ments that strew the site. A spiral band of bas- relievos runs from base to summit, the figures in- creasing in size as they near the top, to preserve throughout the same proportions to the eye of the 228 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. spectator when seen from below. These series of sculptures, chronologically arranged, tell the story of the emperor's victories, and how he came to leave the Roman empire greater and more prosperous than he found it. They are said to represent not less than twenty-five hundred human figures, actors in the imperial drama, many whose names and deeds are forgotten; while pf others it is only known that they lived, resisted, and succumbed to the power of the victor. The representations begin with the crossing of the Danube, and carry on the succes- sive events of the Dacian wars; in one it is the construction of a fortress, in another an attack on the enemy; now it is the reception of ambassadors, and now the emperor addressing his troops. As studies of costumes and other military antiquities, these sculptures are among the most valuable of monumental records. Fortunately for the student there are accurate casts and engravings, from which he can gain a knowledge of them without the pro- digious labor of a detailed inspection of the work. It is noteworthy that this column, wreathed with its splendid garland of imperial triumphs, is preserved complete — as is also the massive mausoleum which serves for its pedestal — save that the statue of Tra- jan, which formerly crowned its summit, has given place to that of St. Peter. Will not the King who ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN's FORUM. 229 has old Korae for his capital, acknowledge the in- congruity of the thing, and following the injunction "Kender unto Csesar the things that are Caesar's," restore to antiquity its own — give back to the Pagan column the statue of the Pagan emperor ? As Ave looked up at the great, patient stars, and listened to the far-off murmur of the ebbing festivi- ties of the Corso, we talked of .the Quirinal and the Vatican, and the mighty breach which the present has made with the past. Although the images of the latter have become colossal in story, and re- splendent, seen through the glorifying effects of his- toric distances, the beacon of the present shines with a clear and wondrous light; its promises fill the soul with joy. Progress, so called, is truly the watch- word of the nineteenth century. Italy was tardy in falling into the general movement; nevertheless she has made great strides in certain directions. Modern improvements may have weakened the stronger tints of local color, and impaired some forms of pictur- esqueness; but in their stead are beauties nobler in quality and tone. Those who come to Eome with imaginations long fed upon dreams, with thoughts intent upon magnificent ceremonials, and hopes of assisting at high festivals of churchly pomp and state, will find things woefully unjointed. A change of colors floats from St. Angelo; the sol- 230 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. emn spectacle of the Pope, with two fingers ex- tended in blessing, is no longer an incident of the streets. Meanwhile one perceives that the City of the Cassars has become more habitable, its air is fresher, its peo- ple seem to breathe more freely, and certainly have more cheerful faces. On the newspaper stands are journals that keep better step with the measures of the age than II Osservatore Romano, and whose voices are newer, more harmonious, and more sympathetic, than the old, so-called Voce clella Veritas. This won- derful city, the storehouse of the accumulated treas- ures of the kingdoms she conquered, and the regal seat of that power in whose hands the Cross grew to be the mightiest of defences, is for us the chronicler of both Pagan and Christian history. In the monu- ments of the former, beauty yields to grandeur — to that something mighty, both in sentiment and struc- ture, which, despite all vandalisms, will remain sub- stantial joy forever. If we rehabilitate temples, the smoke of sacrifice rises from magnificent altars, and we know that the mythical gods were real gods to the Pagan devotee. In the monuments recording- Christian (Papal) history, we find greater luxury, ex- aggeration, and ostentation, which in the light of in- creasing refinement and truer spiritual interpretation, either kill faith, or convert it into blind superstition. ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAn's FORUM. 231 Rome patiently bides the day when the " Ckristus viiicit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat" inscribed on the walls of the Vatican, shall be conpled with " Christus amat, Christus docet, Christus exaltat." We hear already the approaching footsteps; there is now a St. Paul's within the walls. Inquiry, the so-called evangelist of science, has re- cently made interesting discoveries on the Aventine. This is the highest and most picturesque of the Seven Hills, and if it means " The Hill of Birds," is legend- arily connected with the foundation of the city. The newly-revealed fragments are supposed to be remains of the Temple of Diana Aventina, whither Caius Grac- chus fled, and prayed that those who had betrayed him might never be free. The portions of walls are remains of a date much older than the two well-pre- served specimens of the wall of Servius Tullius. One looks in vain for the laurels, bay-trees, and thick groves, of which the Latin poets make frequent mention ; and only on the side facing the Tiber are there any "rocky cliffs." The huge Saxum of the greater summit (there are two summits) has long since disappeared, and among the cliffs of the lesser, one finds no trace of a cave that might be associated with the legend of the giant Cacus. It must have been a Herculean task to drag the stolen bulls up by their tails, if the cliffs were as steep as they are now, 232 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Three churches, the heritage of the Order of Dominicans, crown the Aventine. They occupy sites in the midst of a wealth of overgrown ver- dure, but seemingly they have outlived their uses in a district so infested with malaria as to be al- most depopulated. St. Sabina stands upon the site of the Temple of Juno Regina, which is also the more modern site of the house of the saint. The nave of the church is of noble proportions, and grand in structure, but it is filled with a dusky solitude and an odor of mould, as if already feed- ing on its own ancientness. From a corridor we saw the famous orange-tree, six hundred and sixty years old, said to have been planted by St. Dominic, and its prosperity to tally with that of the Order. In the Chapel of the Rosary a rare feast for the lover of warm color and the picturesque, met the eye. A dim light, warmed and toned by a crimson curtain, fell upon the treasure of the church, the masterpiece of Sassoferrato, La Madonna del Rosario. Tapers were burning upon the altar, and before it knelt a young peasant girl, with flowers in her hand, as sweet in significance as the lily at the feet of the saint. The face of the young girl had a touch of sadness, a something of the hopelessness of renunciation. Was she, out of the substance of her own innocence, preparing some sacrifice ? With ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 233 her rosary, had she too received a crown of thorns ? In the near Convent domain Thomas Aquinas passed much of his life. We wondered if he would have looked in any wise like our cicerone, a Do- minican father — if he would have made just such a solemn, white-hooded figure against the dark gray background of the church. In the gardens of the Convent, and the adjoining declivity of the Aventine, important excavations were made in 1856 and 1857. They brought to light some subterranean prisons, an ancient Koman house, and fragments of walls formed of gigantic blocks of peperino. The second of the trio of churches, St. Alessio, contains some fine monumental tombs; but it is in- teresting chiefly from the fact that the crypt is a subterranean church of very early date. Here the Popes held their conclaves in times of persecution. The story of the youthful saint is well told in the design and appointments of his shrine near the en- trance of the church. The stairs are said to be the veritable stairs under which his body was found. In the neighborhood of the third church, St. Maria, is the beautiful garden of the Priorata. It has an avenue of bay -trees, through which the vista reaches to St. Peter's. The view from the terrace of the gar- den commands a sea of domes, the sinuous, golclen- hued waters of the Tiber, and the broad, verdure- 234 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. waving slopes of the Janiculum. In one of the little courts stands a graceful, tremulous-fingered palm- tree. We were reminded by the equally tremulous- fingered father, that the angels in heaven carry palm- branches in their hands. In this garden Hildebrand (afterward Gregory VII.) wandered, wondered, and grew up to manhood. Not far distant, under the shadow of the classic Armilustrum, Tacitus was buried, but tomb and laurel-grove have long since disappeared. XXI. APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULAS WITHOUT THE WALLS. In these days, when lectures on archaeology draw large audiences, and fashion prefers the works of Di Cesnola and Dr. Schliemann to the latest romance, Kome, the common storehouse of the intellectual energy of ages, becomes for us an intellectual centre. Few cities offer finer opportunities for serious work, whether one is seeking inspiration from the spirit of beauty in the broad realm of art, or the noble repose necessary for philosophic labors; while from its prostrate columns and overthrown temples, the historian may find out nations and model heroes, and scholars learn to interpret Plato, Homer, and Aristotle. In the outlying districts, what peaceful solitudes, what tenderness of sky, what marvellous harmonies of color ! Besides, what beauty of atmospheric ef- fects, how lustrous the air, and what a clustering 236 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. wealth of purple and gold chasing the shifting shad- ows of striding aqueducts and massive arches ! The purely picturesque offers few richer episodes than a Roman wall, with its square towers and broad angu- lar shadows, its sun and storm toned surface, brilliant with a tangled network of ivy and violets; and few sweeter or tenderer than the long grassy stretches of the Campagna, with their sunny stillness, their easy-changing undulations, and their veiled distances, in which the imagination finds its choicest oppor- tunities. To the dreamy contemplative, there are no more winsome sounds than the gentle-voiced winds of the Campagna, freighted with sad, stately refrains; they seem to come from the homes of the solitary, the always desolate, or some remote distance of time and memory over which melancholy broods. Melan- choly is a prominent tone in the scale of sounds throughout all Southern Italy. If to the universal symphony of the winds is added an intenser note, the voice of a nightingale, it is only a gain to the general disembodied pathos, the unseen pouring it- self out in song; for although the voice seems "hun- dred-throated," and fills the air with its ringing mel- odies, one seldom sees the bird himself. Would the traveller test the fruitful suggestive- ness of the near neighborhoods of Eome, let him, APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 237 some fine morning in early spring, drive out of the Porta San Sebastiano. The road thence — the old Via Appia — has its origin within the modern gate, near the now well-authenticated site of the Porta Capena, where Cicero was received on his re- turn from banishment, and where the survivor of the Horatii met and slew his sister. No trace remains of the group of temples, mentioned by the Latin poets as standing near the Porta Capena. Nature is nowhere so generous as in Italy. From the semi-circular towers of the modern gate of San Sebastiano, hang masses of verdure; and just with- out, in the once place of the first Roman milestone, dense patches of cyclamen and forget-me-nots, half hidden in shade, exhale a mixed mist of purple and blue. The lights and shadows on the Alban Hills, so exquisite in tone and rapidly changing, so deli- ciously fantastic when they chance to touch some white village or gray tower, excite enthusiasm even in the most phlegmatic; while in their soft, free-flow- ing lines, one may see what is meant by the Ital- ian-classic in landscape. And if the eye follow the curves down to the sunny level of the fields, it will have the mellowest of the mellow backgrounds of Claude. If one happen to meet a contadino in long cloak and peaked hat, with a counterpart whose eyes are brilliant, cheeks glowing, and smile intense, and 238 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. listens, for a moment to his liquid, open-vo welled ut- terances, it will not detract from the supreme effect. Despite the increasing beauty of the road as it re- cedes from the city walls, one cannot put to flight the host of associations that crowds upon him while traversing the route of this great historic Via. Near the gate, in the space on the left, is the supposed site of the Temple of Mars, where the armies en- tering Rome in triumph used to halt, — the last being that of Marc Antonio Colonna, after the battle of Lepanto. What an impressive serenity overhangs each melancholy detail of broken fragment or name- less monument ! As the eye wanders over the far- strewn wilderness of classic interests, the strongest impression is the irrevocable im permanence of all ambitions and empires. The gloomy influence of the thought is not lessened by the knowledge that the splendor of polished marble, artfully-wrought friezes, and superb bas-reliefs, has been transferred to modern churches and palaces — the intended-to- be-lasting memorials of the illustrious dead stolen to gratify the momentary greed of the living ! On every hand the odor of spring blossoms overcomes that of mouldering tombs, the bright hues of the former lending a welcome cheerfulness to the heavy Latinity of the latter. Here we see a dwelling reared from the dilapidations of sepulchres; there a APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS. 23S group of trees, with broad-spreading branches, crowns a burial mound, and a little further a tower stands on a tomb-hillock, the slopes of which are covered with the lustrous green of laurels, intermixed with broken urns. To the sensuous ear the air of the Appian Way seems charged with a strange, indistinct murmur, a recognized suggestiveness that, breaking the long night of the slumberers, recalls them to legendary activities; even the rising breeze tunes itself to the plaintive voice of the past. We hear a mournful sound, a funeral dirge; we see a dead body upon a bier strewn with flowers — it is clad in festal robes, and about it are the gifts of those who loved the departed. The funeral pile is wreathed with ivy, the bier is placed upon it; there is an odor of spices and sweet-smelling ointments, and the torch is ap- plied. Again there is weeping and lamentation and voices singing. Meanwhile the heaped-up pile, turn ing to ashes, sinks to the level of the bystanders golden wine extinguishes the embers. All that re- mains is gathered and reverently deposited in an urn, and those who mourn the dead, depart saying, " Salve ! Ave ! Vale ! " Quite unlike is the modern manner of Le Moyne, who, with his close brick fur- nace, seems to have eliminated all sentiment from cremation. 240 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. The most interesting of the Catacombs of the Via Appia is the one known as St. Calixtus. Burying the dead instead of burning them was a distinguish- ing feature of primitive Christianity, its disciples keeping in remembrance that their "Lord was laid in a tomb hewn out of a rock." During the reign of Trajan and the Antonines these sepulchre caverns were the rally ing-point of those whose lives were a "spectacle to men and angels," and who, being dead, yet live in the far-spread triumph of that faith which teaches one to love his enemies, to bless and curse not, to even kiss the hand that smites. The walls of St. Calixtus are lined with tombs of saints and martyrs, few of them more notable in life or death than St. Cecilia. The cubiculum in which her body was found — six hundred years after burial, fresh and perfect as when laid there — has an altar; also other features belonging to a chapel. Formerly a light was kept burning before the shrine, and mass was celebrated there on certain anniversaries. A more solemn service can hardly be conceived than a mass at midnight in the Catacombs; but such celebrations are no longer permitted. The paintings of the Catacombs have small merit as works of art, whatever they may be as illustra- tions of faith and doctrine. The favorite subject was evidently that of the Good Shepherd, and APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 241 probably was so because it embraces the whole spirit of the Christian religion. Its origin is un- doubtedly Greek, if it is not simply an adaptation of the Greek statue "Mercury carrying a goat"; indeed, in several paintings the "Good Shepherd" is represented as carrying a goat. The prospect, as one descends into the valley toward San Sebastiano, is charming. Showers of golden sparkles play in the air, revealing delectable tints, and deepening the individual color of each picturesque effect, splendid hints to the questioning fancy of an artist. But the mellow brilliancy is tainted with mortality; there are tombs on either hand, and beneath the basilica are " coemeterium ad catacumbas." These were open and frequented by pilgrims as late as the fifteenth century. The wealth of the church consists in some ancient gran- ite columns, the so-called original footprints of the Saviour from Domino Quo Vadis, and a fine statue of the saint, which represents him as a youth clad in armor; it was designed by Bernini. It would seem as if tourists had written away and artists sketched away all interest in the fort- ress-like monument of Csecilia Metella, so constantly do we see it represented in books, albums, and port- folios. But its grand proportions, mantled with the light elegance of spring flowers, its marble frieze 24:2 A NEW TREAD JN AN OLD TRACK. decorated with fine bas-reliefs, and the exquisite correspondence of its magnificence with the senti- ment that reared it, have a charm that is indescrib- able and nnsketchable. Near the fourth milestone Seneca was put to death by Nero's order: whether the ruin near by, with the bas-relief representing the murder of Atys by Adrastus, formed a part of his tomb, is still a question for the antiquary. The ruin Casole Rotondo, a mausoleum transformed into a fortress by the Orsini, is supposed to be the tomb of Messala Corvinus, the poet, and a friend of Horace. The view beyond the tombs has the Sabine Hills and the distant, lonely Soracte for a background, while for its nearer charms are the silver meshes of wandering streamlets and the sinuous lines of arches framed in rank muffles of verdure. In the atmosphere there is a peculiarly beautiful violet tone, and a something almost sentient seems to throb in the pulsations of light, an echo from the mighty past, the tread of the notable processionals that once passed along the road; now it is the funeral cortege of Augustus carrying him back to his im- perial palace on the Palatine, and now it is the procession bearing back to Rome the body of Sylla, " in a gilt litter, with royal ornaments, trumpets be- fore him, and horsemen behind." Amid all waver- ing traditions the story of " Paul's Journey," as re- APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 243 lated in the Acts of the Apostles, stands unquestioned and unmutilated. The thoughtful believer naturally turns to it as the greatest of all triumphal proces- sions that have passed over the Via Appia, some- times called the Sacra Via. He sees Paul, the teacher, apostle, and prophet, "following his Lord without the gate," attended by soldiers and the motley crowd that made up the stirring life of the Imperial world. Returning cityward, a short drive brings one to the Church of the Three Fountains, which is as curious as the legend connected with it. Having no desire to examine the relics, little fancy for the very melancholy site, and small interest in special localities merely as such, we hurried on to the grand basilica which was reared to commemorate the Apos- tle's martyrdom, San Paolo Fuori Le Mura. The an- cient structure which had been used uninterruptedly for Christian worship nearly fifteen centuries, was destroyed by fire in 1823. Gregory Sixteenth at once commenced its restoration, and Pius Ninth completed the interior in 1854. Entering the church by the transept and looking down the nave, we had some conception of the blindness that fell upon those who witnessed the Transfiguration. The con- centrated splendor has an overpowering dazzling- ness. Instinctively the hand is raised to shut out 244 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the flashing lights of polished marble, alabaster and malachite, porphyry and lapis-lazuli. When our eyes could bear the strong crystal-prismatic-like blaze, we looked in vain for spot or blemish in the wondrous magnificence of rich altars, beautiful chapels and fres- cos, well wrought statues, floor of marble superbly jointed and polished, and walls sheathed in richly variegated marbles. Eighty massive columns with capitals elegantly carved, separate the nave from the aisles, two, more colossal than the others, sup- porting an arch over the main altar. The arch is a relic from the old basilica, and has some interest- ing mosaics and inscriptions, one of the latter com- memorating the great Leo who defended Koine against Attila. Eoman Catholics believe that the body of the Apostle lies beneath the "Confession" in front of the high altar. An inscription tells us that the ancient altar canopy is enclosed in the modern baldacchino, which rests upon four pillars of Oriental alabaster, the gift of the pasha of Egypt, In the transept the bewildered eye gets a little respite from polychromatic splendors. The mala- chite altars, as simple in construction as they are beautiful in material, were presented b}^ the Em- peror Nicholas of Russia. We were glad to sit awhile in the soft-toned tranquillity of one of the APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 245 chapels opening from the transept, where, in the richly clustering incidents of the walls, altar, and confessional, Ave could trace the divers states of Catholicism, from early Pagan bas-reliefs, through the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, to its modern statues by Tenerani and Rinaldi. In the chapel of St. Bridget is- preserved the famous crucifix of Pietro Cavallini, which the saint during her ecsta- tic devotion seemed to hear speak to her. Before the Reformation the basilica and adjoin- ing convent were under the protection of the kings of England. The ribbon and motto of the Order of the Garter are still seen on the shield of the arms of the monastery. The exterior of the church is far from noteworthy, unless its extreme ugliness makes it notable. The porticos and arcades of the cloisters have some fine cippolino columns, and the campanile attracts attention because it is said to resemble an ancient pharos. All the surround- ings of the structure are in a decidedly minor key. It stands alone on the Campagna, near the banks of the Tiber, desolation having succeeded the beau- ty of flourishing gardens and suburban villas amid which it once stood. The district is so infested with a malarial pestilence that it is deserted for the greater part of the year. In its solitary grandeur, St. Paul's seems a fit emblem of the formalism, use- 246 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. less luxury, and exaggeration of Romanism as it exists to-day. Near the gate of St. Paul's, close by the old Aure- lian wall, and under the black, sepulchral shadows of the huge Pyramid of Caius Cestus, is the little Protestant burial-ground, where the old and the new in funeral things make a solemn and impressive con- trast. Few strangers from Protestant countries fail to visit this lovely spot — so lovely with its thick growing cypresses, its trellises of blooming roses, and immense beds of violets, and over all the clear, tender Roman light ! If one is not seeking the grave of friend or kin, he still feels a strangely attracting interest and sympathy; usually the records on the monuments tell him that those whom they commem- orate died young, that they were travellers like him- self, or at most only temporary sojourners in Rome. English-speaking visitors find the grave of Keats, with its solitary rose-tree, and read the words written by himself, " Here lies one whose name was writ in water " ; also that which contains the heart of Shelley — (the body was burned at Lerici). On the recumbent slab, after the name, dates of birth and death, is written: "Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea change Into something rich and strange." APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS. 247 When we saw the grave of the poet, it was bordered with violets, of which the obliging custodian gave us freely, taking us to be English. Papal Rome proba- bly did not see "the fitness of things" when she set apart this spot as the burial-place of Protestants. There seems to be a kind of poetic, if not personal, justice in its location; for those who rest, waiting for the resurrection, so near the soil drenched with the blood of Paul, the apostle and martyr, can hardly be said to be buried in unconsecrated ground. XXII. BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES, VIA SALARIA AND THE VATICAN. Nowhere does spring make more rapid advances, or take captive finer picturesque effects of sights and sounds and possible memories, than in the grounds of the Villa Borghese. The Borghese is al- ways open to the public, and therefore has not that air of idleness, interfused with irresponsibility, which is so usually the dominant expression of old Roman villas; while it is one of the choicest, regarded as a standpoint for observation, and quite irresistible if one would indulge in that poetic affair called day- dreaming. When the avenues are crowded, innumerable places of silence, but hardly solitude, may be found in the almost twilight duskiness of cypress-walks, or be- neath ancient ilex-trees, which, while throwing abroad huge branches and ponderous shade, have kept no visible record of their oft-imperilled state. BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 249 Storms and assaults have been forgotten in a sturdy growth of centuries — in an ever-increasing leafy grace, a picturesque arranging of wide-sheltering boughs, and the melodies of their wind-played strings, as the songs, symphonies, and choruses of the seasons have followed one upon another with their changeful themes. The gently undulating lawns are smooth and bright; and intermixed with open spaces, odor- ous with the sweet efflorescence of daisies, violets, and anemones, are tall-stemmed stone pines, which lift their green, dome-like crests far skyward; and, in the interstices of wooded stretches, fountain streams fall into marble basins, or make beady cascades over rock-piled beds. There is no shabbiness anywhere to appeal to over- sensitive perceptions ; only a little artificial dishevel- ment here and there in the arrangement of shattered columns, broken temple-fronts (the crevices filled with weedy flowering), and terminal porticos and colossal statues, seen through vistas of shaded paths, or supported against the gnarled and twisted trunks of grand old oaks. The heroic forms of these "forest monarchs" harmonize well with antiquity, and are a delightful refreshment when one is weary with the limitations of stone and marble. Not less refreshing are the occasional poplars, while they appeal directly to the imagination. There is something strange in 250 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. their vacillating motion, as if fearful that in their fre- quent whisperings important secrets might escape them. A thousand pendant catkins look like ruddy- liued blossoms, and contrast admirably with their sil- ver-gray leafage, which is in a constant tremor, de- spite the warmth of the radiant air, the soft canopy of tender sky-tones, and a great sheeted glitter of gold coming in from the west. From the Borghese to the Albani the transition is natural; for each is characteristic and complete, re- garded as a representative Eoman villa. Spring- time's advance is visible at the Albani also, in the re- freshed green of sycamore avenues, a seeming new beauty in the superb cypress-lined palisade, and an almost trellis-like grace in the fine aloes stretching their fantastic network of trunks and branches against white walls. The box-hedges are a little for- mal, as if nature as well as art sometimes dealt in mannerisms; and the flower-beds and grass-plots which they enclose are laid out with geometrical pre- cision — even the color of the former is regularly, if not geometrically, variegated. Cardinal Alexander Albani designed and built the villa in 1760, and it may be taken as a fair expression of the mind, manners, and character of the Italian seignior of that period. The seignior was rich, had taste, and usually learning. He prized artistic order BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 251 in all things, but particularly in garden and land- scape disposings. He demanded lofty and spa- cious apartments, whose solidity of construction and magnificence of decoration should keep in remembrance imperial Kome; also broad prome- nades, open to fresh breezes, and affording ample space for trains of courtiers and attendants. To these requirements the Albani responds; its halls, porticos, and saloons are princely, grand in propor- tions, and harmonious and classical in arrangement, while they are decorated with splendid marble mosa- ics, wainscoting, bas-reliefs, columns, and statues. The Cardinal was an antiquary, and here, under his patronage, Winckelmann became an antiquary, and thought out his history of art. Nowhere have I seen ancient sculptures so happily arranged; there is no crowding, but each piece oc- cupies a place suited to its size and character, with the light so arranged that illumination and shadow may have the most effective contrasts. Among the treasures of the villa is the relief representing the marriage of Peleus and Thetis; also the parting of Orpheus and Eurydice, which latter certainly proves the ability of sculpture to both represent and excite emotion. The famous Antinous crowned with a lotus flower, is supremely beautiful, as well as im- pressive; it is evidently the outcome of the deepest 252 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. inspiration. It shows at a glance how far the man- ner of the ancient Greek surpasses any other in the representation of pure ideal beauty. Another con- spicuous art treasure is the "Apollo Sauroctonus," said to be an original statue by Praxiteles, and the most admirable bronze statue in the world. The windows of the upper galleries afford one of the loveliest pictures that even Roman sky, plains, and mountain-lines can paint. One sees the delicate Sabine range in an intense broken purple; Monte Genaro and Montecelli, spotted with white towns, in a nearer scintillating azure; and a panoramic series of green meadows, across which play the ever-vary- ing shadows of fleecy clouds, let down from an above-all of palpable blue. The graceful swell and subsidence of the plain is interrupted midway to the mountains by the churches St. Agnese and St. Con- stanza, whose roofs and walls, relieved only by the friendly duskiness of cypress-trees in near neighbor- hood, are clearly defined in the limpid, luminous atmosphere ; while the waters of the Anio flash and sparkle as they approach the ruins of the bridge that once spanned them, and hurry on to lose themselves in the vapor-like dimness of remote distance. The drive along the Via Salaria is one of rare en- tertainment, provided the mood is for something more than brilliant air, sunny stillness, and beautiful BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 253 atmospheric effects. Traditional interests, with strik- ing suggestions of ghostly presences, crowd the way, in spite of clumps of bloom tumbling over walls, or the wild roses and honeysuckles against which your carriage-wheels brush as you pass. The entire dis- trict lying between the road and the mountains, is undermined by catacombs, the most interesting be- ing that of St. Priscilla. It is one of the oldest, and is constructed like an ancient arena. The central portion is supported by pillars and walls of masonry. St. Priscilla, after whom the Catacomb is named, is supposed to have been a contemporary of the Apos- tles; and it is claimed that one of the paintings on the roof of a locdus, belongs almost to that age. It represents the Virgin seated, with the infant Saviour in her arms; from her head, and partially covering it, depends a light drapery. Opposite is a single male figure, clothed in the pallium, holding a book in one hand, while with the other he points to a star appearing nearly over the Child. This figure, thus connected with the star, has made the painting no- table, because of much questioning as to whom it is intended to represent. Is it St. Joseph, or one of the Magi? or is it Esaias? It seems a strange juxtapo- sition of eras so distant — that of the prophet telling of the coming of the Messiah, and that of His actual coming. Bat art in its rude states took large license. 254 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. The book, the pallium, and the fact that the prophet so often made use of imagery borrowed from light, favor the belief that it is Esaias, who comes thus to confront the fulfilment of his own prophecies. Returning to the city walls, one reaches, by a road leading from the Porta Pia, the churches before men- tioned. St. Agnese is entered by a flight of stairs (lined with inscriptions from the Catacombs), which descends forty-five steps to reach the floor-pavement, showing what surface accumulations have accom- plished in the process of making it a future subter- ranean church. The interior is divided into nave and aisles by antique columns, which support arches. Above the aisles are galleries with smaller columns upholding a triform roof; this roof is on a level with the road outside. The tabernacle, supported by four porphyry columns, contains an antique alabaster stat- ue of the saint; and in one of the chapels is a won- derfully beautiful inlaid altar. A short distance beyond St. Agnese, the road skirts the willow-shaded banks of the Anio, to whose friendly waters, legend says, Silvia trusted the cradle of Romu- lus and Remus, which the Tiber, having received, landed with its wonderful babies at the foot of the Palatine. Continuing beyond Ponte Nomentana, past the Mons Sacer of the plebeians, and the disinterred BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 255 Church of St. Alessandro, within whose roofless en- closure Mass is celebrated on the saint's day, we came to a road turning to the left, which leads to the little village of Mentana. We had traversed this same route before — on a certain November day in 1867 — when we noted not the blue of the Sabine hills, nor the white glittering chapels on the Alban slopes, nor the wide Campagna with its thousand fascina- tions. We thought only of the hillside beyond the olive wood, so lately the field of blood, and the brave men, mostly youths, who fell there. Keturning home- ward, we talked of those days — of that fearful night when, expecting each moment to be stopped by Gari- baldi's advance-guard, we entered the panic-stricken city close npon the heels of the routed troops from Viterbo; of those gloomy days shut up in the Hotel Minerva, and the intolerable espionage to which we harmless tourists were subjected; how we knew not whether to laugh or cry when we heard the great guns of Civita Vecchia, which announced to the Papal Court that the French had arrived. Then came the battle of Mentana, the forced retreat of Garibaldi, the days of bringing in the wounded, dead, and dy- ing, and the solemn Requiem Masses in San Carlo. To-day the scene is very different: all is bright; the sun shines with an unwonted glorifying radiance. People hurry hither and thither with smiling faces; 256 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. models in their picturesque costumes doze on the Spanish steps; young, well-clad girls offer us the loveliest and sweetest flowers; and there, in an open landau, goes the Queen on her way to the Pincio, to hear the music, and show the young Prince to the Roman world. Thither we are going — to the parapet of the great terrace, — and looking over the city towards St. Peter's and the sunset, will take a mental memorandum of the magnificent scene, the while listening to the band. If the locale of Rome is full of suggestions for thought, her fine museums and superb palaces are not less fruitful excitants. All centuries have con- tributed to the various collections, and their works definitely mark the prominent £ras of genius, ambi- tion, and wealth. During the temporal reign of Papal power, none but aesthetic enthusiasms were permitted to the Italians. Thus all intellectual vi- tality had an aesthetic impulse, and manifested itself accordingly, — the earlier reigns being occupied more particularly in producing, and the latter in collect- ing. One finds perhaps in the galleries of the Vati- can the richest treasures of antique sarcophagi, un- known -tongued inscriptions, marvellous tapestries, arrays of sculpture, wonderful mural masterpieces, and on canvas the world's supreme glories of color and wonders of composition. BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 257 Passing through a noble colonnade, with broad, lofty arches, and a perspective made for kings to delight in, one ascends the Scala Eegia to the mag- nificent Sala Eegia. If it is the first time, the visitor is like a voyager on a boundless, unknown sea; he is bewildered by the immensity and the exceeding richness of the art world that lies before him. Reach- ing the entrance of the Museum of Statues, and look- ing clown the seemingly never-ending vista, he will, however, soon descry many familiar forms in the vast, silent multitude. The advance statue is Silenus, holding in his arms the infant Bacchus, whom he caressingly regards. It is a copy from the Greek. Portions of the child, and the vine-leaves with which Silenus is adorned, are restorations. Near by is an exquisitely graceful Ganymede filling his cup for the gods; also a Diana, whose gentle, sympathetic face, finely-chiselled form, and stooping attitude, suggest the sleeping Endymi- on lacking to complete the group. Here is an heroic Augustus, with a cuirass covered with bas-reliefs which tell the story of his achievements. As works of art, the reliefs are marvellously beautiful, wonderful in strength and boldness of execution, and in delicacy of finish. Euripides, with a grave countenance, and grand mien, holding a poetic scroll, confronts a de- claiming Demosthenes, whose indignation against 258 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the Athenians because of their fickleness, is seen in every line of the face, action of muscle, and fold of drapery. One of the most beautiful statues of the Vatican galleries, is that of an athlete, found in the Trastevere in 1849. A wonderful elasticity is visible in the limbs, the form is slender, the face youthful, the hair thrown backward, and nothing can exceed the grace of attitude ; he is in the act of using the strigil upon the left arm. This is the statue that was made fa- mous, according to Pliny, by the loud outspoken admiration of the populace during the reign of Tibe- rius. The Emperor having taken it to adorn his palace, the complaints of the people were so great that he was compelled to restore it to the public baths, where it was first set up by Agrippa, who brought it from Greece. Another statue somewhat famous, and upon which Goethe bestowed unusual enthusiasm, as recorded in his book of journeyings, is the Minerva Medica of the same gallery. It was found among the ruins of a so-called temple of the goddess on the Esquiline. It is of Parian marble, and one of the finest-draped figures that we have seen. The helmet-crowned head, the spear in the hand, and cuirass at the shoulder, give a warlike expression; but the whole figure, in pose and general action, has great serenity, dignity, BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 259 and majesty, and seems to represent the incarnate personality of the true Hellenic idea of wisdom. Giving but hasty glances into the Museos Chiara- monti and Pio Clementino, we reach the first vesti- bule, in which is the Torso de Belvedere, brought from the baths of Caracalla. Though it is but a mutilated trunk, it reveals to us an inherent individ- uality of action, majesty, and grandeur. It has been fitly described as a " mass of breathing stone " ; and as we look at the flesh so wonderfully moulded, the curves and depressions, the muscles and the wrin- kles, all so true to life in the minutest detail, we feel that the artist has penetrated the secrets of nature, and that there is no want in art, approved by taste, reason, or feeling, that may not be appre- hended by sculpture. It is said Michael Angelo de- clared that to this statue lie owed his power of delineating the human figure; and that when the blindness of old age had come -upon him, he would desire to be led up to it, that he might, through touch, still enjoy its grandeur. In a niche near by is a sarcophagus, which every visitor stops to regard ; it once held the mortal remains of Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, the great-grandfather of that Scipio avIio " carried the war into Africa." It is one of the well- authenticated relics of the Kepublic, and is a " fa- miliar" in engravings and plaster reproductions. 260 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. The Cortile del Belvedere of the Vatican was built by Bramante. It is a small octagonal court, sur- rounded by an open portico, and in it are some of the finest vases and sarcophagi yet disinterred by the ever-alive zeal of the antiquary. From the Belvedere court open four cabinets, each of which contains a world-renowned treasure. In the first, beginning at the right, are the Perseus and Two Boxers of Canova, so much praised by Stendhal. In the Perseus the mantle-folds fall grace- fully; but the figure, while it is exquisite, regarded as a piece of work, is decidedly effeminate — has more of loveliness than manly strength in its action, and a self-consciousness that would crush out any budding intellectual characteristics. The Boxers look to be simply coarse, realistic pugilists, clever in modelling, but excite neither sympathy nor interest. They are good examples of modern as distinguished from an- cient taste, notwithstanding the fact that Canova has been considered a good guide to the antique. The second cabinet contains a figure, which the more one looks, the more he admires — the Mercury of the Belvedere. We see in it plainly the artist's ideal of beauty of form and mind united, as if it were a revelation, an outward expression of a vital presence within the marble. The details are per- fect proportions; calm, thoughtful features, over BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 261 which plays a light smile; and a refined intelli- gence of expression absolutely faultless — all evident- ly the outgrowth of positive aesthetic knowledge. The group of the Laocoon, in the third cabinet, is as world-wide known as it is world-wide wonderful. To see the very statue described by Pliny as stand- ing in the Palace of the Emperor Titus, is something; but it is not a pleasing group, even regarded as a symbolical representation of sin and its merited pun- ishment, and certainly much less regarded as a sym- bolical revelation of " sin " as the " throttler " of hu- mankind. The conception is simple, and would be lofty did a moral beauty seem signally to overpower the sense of physical suffering. As the artist has skilfully chosen the moment of instinctive prepara- tion for a final effort of nature to avert the doom impending, there is a seeming breath of suspension in the torture, an instant of repose, a thought of hope, ere the final rack — the catastrophe beyond the brink upon which we feel ourselves to be standing. In the fourth and last cabinet we find the " Lord of the Unerring Bow," the Apollo Belvedere. It is a noble conception, sublime in its simplicity, having a beauty of form and majesty of mien worthy the intel- lectual character of the magnificent head — in all, loyal to the strictest aesthetic law of the Greek — the truest conceivable representative of an Olympian divirity. XXIII. VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA, KAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. Eome takes entire possession of head and heart; but when the weighty pressure of her ponderous by- gones becomes too mighty for both, we escape to some out-of-the-way of wood or flowery slope. Suc- cessive days in galleries made us sigh for the fresh breezes, enchanted light, and mountain tints. There- fore we proceeded, one morning, to the little gate behind Bernini's columns, and leaving the city, strolled up the easy winding carriage-road of Monte Mario to the summit, and the Villa Mellini. For us, half the merit of the gentle ascent was its many- featured waysides, which were bright with local color, old-time intentions, and scenic changes of intense picturesqueness. An Italian group cannot help mak- ing a charming picture; one of Contadini seems to exhaust the possibilities of brilliancy in complexion, eyes, and garments, and of emphasis and vivacity in VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. 263 gesticulation, pose and expression. There were any number of striking realistic pictures lying about on the grass, or leaning against the open doorways of small osterie: through one opening came a yellow, vine-filtered light, which made a soft aureole about a youug face. The day was strangely delicious, so bright, with just a touch of the so-still, as we reached the villa gate. Near by stands the "lonely pine,' ; which, tower-like, marks the distant perspective in so many bettevues. A silver- white stem column seemed to carry the great green dome, with its ceaseless susurrus, quite ^up to the peaceful, stainless blue. To the imaginative mind there is a charm in this self-seek- ing isolation in the upper air, as if it would get away from the wanton shabbiness of the present — a vague hint of other times, of which it could tell pleasant tales ; when velvet and cloth of gold trailed over the lawns, and gay cavaliers and happy prin- cesses, well mounted, galloped across the flowery distances, or through the lovely cork-woods of Monte Mario. Within the grounds is one of the finest old ilex- walks that we have seen, a vaulted shade running along the brow of the hill: through openings in its dense dark green we caught glimpses of mountain groups and bright Campagna levels. The walls were 2(l4 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ■ overhung with orange blossoms, which revealed the secrets of their golden centres only to equally mys- terious, sympathetic little neighbors: hyacinths, vio- lets, and anemones. Their close intimacy — an inter- mixture or exchange of perfumes — was a delicious vernal entertainment, for which we were grateful, if we might not penetrate the mysteries. The far-off note of a wood-bird responded to that of a near-lodged songster, at which the whole air suddenly became vocal, one performer out-singing the others, as if striving to pour its life out in a volume of melody. Monte Mario is the highest point of the range; therefore the villa commands one of the finest views of Borne, with its enclosing mountain lines and Campagna stretches of green and gold. Beyond the blue Albans, above a gray, vapory mist, the snowy peaks of the Apennines glitter in the sunshine, while the scattered villages of nearer slopes are touched by the transcendent beauty of a rosier light. The Tiber from Fidenae, coming down between hills, moves more slowly and majestically as it approaches grandly arched bridges, and embracing the feet of the Seven Hills, pursues its way over the Campagna to the purple line of the horizon and the shining sea beyond. Between the golden-hued river and the mountains lies the Eternal City — a vast sea of tri- umphal arches, sombre-colored mausoleums, white VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. • 265 glittering colonnades, magnificent temples, massive- walled amphitheatres, and gorgeous palaces ; and over all these is an unwonted illumination — a clear, ether light that would gild even the commonest things with enchantment. Villa Madama, on the side of the mountain, receives its name from Margaret of Austria, the wife of a Farnese. It is haunted by a grim sort of melancholy — memories of Medicean and Bourbon princes — the spectres perchance of their sometime immoralities that will not be laid. There was something almost pitiful in the neglect, the waste, the dreariness; but there was a bit of brightness in the court. Spring had unfolded roses among the creeping plants, and given a little fresh vigor to the ferns and mosses growing on the walls, and a flourishing fig-tree shaded the dilapidated fountain. We were obliged to pick our way over stones and through mud to reach the loggia, the only remaining feature of inter- est connected with the villa. The roof of the loggia has three cupolas, which are singularly beautiful ; the vaulting and walls were decorated by Giulio Komano and Giovanni da Udine, who, taking classic beauty as their ideal, wrought marvels of ingenuity, grace, and elegance for the fastidious Medici. But dampness has destroyed their beauty; decay has eaten into their vitals. Apollos and Dianas look 266 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. pinched and forlorn; greedy chickens pick out the eyes of fallen cupids, and gobble tip disjointed nymphs piecemeal, for the villa is now a shab- by farmhouse, and the loggia terrace a poultry- yard. A something — panting, sobbing — disturbs the sombre pall of time: is it the ghostly presence of the once proud Medici, vainly imploring aid to save the perishing splendors of their former pleasure house — the jewelled leaves falling from the crowns of Eomano and Da Udine? Keturning the way we had come, by the Porta Angelica, we went into St. Peter's. We have before seen the great church in Easter hangings of scarlet; the Pope, wearing the triple crown, borne on a throne by priests in purple velvet, attended by cardi- nals and bishops in gold-embroidered vestments, and the ever-famous Swiss; and our hearts have thrilled in sympathy with kneeling thousands in the open square, as upon them fell the papal bene- diction — "an old man's blessing." We have seen it as an illuminated temple of God, its outlines a bold, fiery, high relief against a background of night; and we have looked down into the dark waters of the Tiber, and seen reflected there its crowning illuminated glory, the heavenward-lifted blazing dome. With the new order of things, the ceremonies of Easter-tide are certainly shorn of their VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. 267 pomps. There are no silver trumpets, no gorgeous processions, no midnight masses in the Sistine, no grand illuminations. But the supreme beauty of St. Peter's, as an object of intellectual admiration, remains — the marvellous combination of its immense space, massed lights, and sustained magnificence. As a structure, it has the special quality of never exhausting the curiosity ; every visit adds something new to all former impressions, either of detail or general beauty. We strolled along the pavement, between the sculptured colossi and the richly-ap- pointed altar-services of temples within a temple, toward the golden baldacchino, upon which poured a flood of sunshine from the huge dome, and felt, as we have so often before, that St. Peter's is the most wonderful place perhaps in the world. It is certainly the grandest of man's achievements: within its vastness the vision expands, and gets a glimpse of inexhaustible material means; the imagination, moved by the spirit of the colossal, is exalted, and seeks the loftiest provinces; and the awe that, in the presence of all this grandeur of thought and achievement, steals upon one, reaching almost the limit of impressionableness, may easily be mistaken for an effusion of faith. Not many days after our excursion to Monte Mario, we returned again to the Vatican. In the palace, 268 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. what we most value — its priceless art-treasures — are untouched. Mention has heretofore been made of the galleries as magnificent, interminable marvels of decorative skill, and of some of the most noted pieces of sculpture found in the unending succession of wonders — the gems within the casket. Each col- lection is so vast, the vistas of subject and treatment so boundless, the wealth of material so piled up that at first one is confused in thought and feeling, and soon loses himself in a bewildered interminglement of both, unless he takes more time than is usually allotted to the tourist, or makes up his mind to fore- go all detailed inspections except of objects the most important and well known. We accepted the latter alternative, and giving but little time to the remain- ing galleries of statues and busts, made our way to the Loggie and Stanze of Kaphael. Although the fifty-two paintings on the ceilings of the Loggie, called sometimes Eaphael's Bible, were mostly executed by his pupils, we can see the master's hand in the designs — in their one-minded purpose, in the varied individuality of thought, un- harmed by discordant notes, as well as in a har- monious blending of Pagan ideal beauty with Chris- tian feeling and tradition. His genius controlled the clever hands that filled the vaulted spaces with these wonderful groups — faces as beautiful as bea- RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 269 tific visions, delicately modelled limbs having the free ecstacy of action akin to the movements of a chorus of gladness. We see in the series of the Creations, particularly in the Creation of Light, how much of strength he united with grace, how much of sublimity with exuberance of joy: the fiery clouds are rent as by a thunderbolt, letting in that light which should be the brightness, the joy, the life-spring of all after creations. The Stanze, so called, are three rooms decorated by Raphael and his colleagues during the reigns of Julius II. and Leo X. Entering through the Sala di Constantino, the first room, but not the first painted, is the Stanza d'Eliodoro, in which the fres- cos are intended to illustrate the triumph of the Church over her temporal enemies, and attest the truth of her received doctrines. Glancing at the walls, the instinctive feeling is that the frescos are repre- sentations of actual visions, so striking appears the fact that every thought of the artist is incarnate in a characteristic human form, and seems a part of some dramatic purpose and action, whether it be of history or philosophy, symbols or things symbol- ized. Though dampness has harmed the frescos, and they have been scratched and otherwise ill- treated in attempted restorations, we can trace proofs of Raphael's wonderfully acute sense of the 270 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. just relations between color and form, and of his manner of producing brilliant effects — using strik- ing contrasts rather than gradual leadings from deep to light tones. In the Heliodorus, from which the stanza receives its name, there is a twofold representation and sig- nificance, at once understood when we consider the character and claims of Julius. The acknowledged head and commissioned defender of the patrimonies of the Church, whose capital See was Eome, he shared the wish of his predecessors in regard to the restoration of the city to her ancient glory, but coupled with it the desire of a perpetuating remem- brance of his own personality. Few Popes have been celebrated for modesty or humility, and Julius pos- sessed as little of either the earthly or heavenly grace as any. He is introduced in the Heliodorus, in the midst of a group of men, women, and children, but borne on the sella gestatoria. He seems intensely interested in the scene opposite, in which the main action and motive of the painting center — the arch- angel and the avenging messengers trampling under their feet the would-be riflers of the temple. The German and French invaders, and Bolognese and Perugian revolters, are supposed to be typified in the Heliodorus and his companions, who attempt to seize the treasures of the Temple at Jerusalem; RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 271 while Julius typifies the avenging hosts as the de- liverer of his people, the latter being represented in the group immediately surrounding him, and the high priest Onias in the figure kneeling at the altar, which has a rapt sort of calmness, the peace and joy of consciousness of prayer already answered. For us, the wonder is that the events of the reigns of Seleucus IV. and Julius II. should be represented in one painting, and so harmonized in general tone and effect that we scarcely think of the matter as an anachronism. In the Miracle of Bolsena, Julius, with his rela- tives, two cardinals, assists at a Mass. By a spe- cial interference of Divine power, blood flows from the consecrated wafer, that an unbeliever may be convinced of the doctrine of transubstantiation. We feel the hushed stillness of expectancy, and the thrill that runs through the multitude when it beholds the miracle. Its chief interests as a masterpiece are the happy idealization of so many real personages, the nat- ural groupings, and the harmonious balance of the correspondent parts, the grouping suggesting in a marked degree the influence of his early teacher, Fra Bartolomeo. The two other frescos on the walls, the Attila and the Liberation of St. Peter from Prison, are much injured. The latter is particularly instructive 272 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. as a study. It is divided into three parts, each of which is an episode in the progress of the story; and it has three sources of light — the moon, the angel, and a blazing torch in a soldiers hand. The Apostle is seen asleep behind iron bars, a dark figure against a background of light emanat- ing from the angelic visitant, whose beauty is as heavenly as his radiance. On one side, but on a lower level, the Apostle appears freed from his chains, and accompanied by the angel, who here seems to have a double light, that radiating from his own substance of angelhood being distinguish- able from that of the aureole. The effect of this twofold light upon the armor of the sleeping sol- diers is most wonderful, yet does not waken them. On the other side — the work is so disposed in its parts as to fit the upper portions of a window-frame — we see the guards roused from their slumbers by a soldier, who carries a torchlight, and brings the tidings of the Apostle's escape. If the next room, the Stanza della Segnatura, does not represent the sum of human knowledge, it offers an approximate representation, in the Disputa, the Jurisprudence, the Parnassus,, and the school of Athens. The Disputa asserts the uselessness of dis- cussion upon matters of faith. It is a portrayal of the closing of such a dispute by a miraculous vision, RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 273 which sheds light upon the "men of many minds," and through the symbolized mystery of the Eucharist reveals a means of communication between God and man. The personages of the vision are from both the Old and New Testament, each holding the sym- bol of his particular office. Among the "Doctors" are SS. Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine, Peter Lombardus, and Thomas Aquinas. Prominent in the foreground is Gregory the Great, in pontifical robes, and Innocent III., author of Stabat Mater and the Veni Creator. It is claimed that the Parnassus is the result of inspiration drawn from the Divina Commedia, that the Homer is the Homer of the Inferno, and that the Apollo and Muses sit under the same laurel-shades as those whom Dante and Yirgil met in their sub- bas peregrinations. No doubt the lovely female figure with the lyre, in the foreground, is intended for Sappho; and if one had imagination enough he might find Corinne, Pindar, and Petrarch in the fresco. The School of Athens is for us, by far, the most interesting of the mural paintings. In the center of the composition stand Plato and Aristotle, the one pointing upward, signifying his lofty aspira- tions as a seeker after knowledge and excellence, both moral and religious; the other "the specula t- 274 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ist in realism" extending his hand outward, as if the earth — material facts — were his field and in- struments of labor. On either side are their re- spective disciples and leaders in variations of phil- osophy, and in the foreground those in the exact sciences. We recognize that Raphael went to Rome's ancient structures for his architectural designs, and to her gal- leries for the accurate features of his personages — the Socrates, Pythagoras, Leucippus, Archimedes, and Ptolemy. The work though complicated, is broad, lofty, and natural; the groups are arranged according to their characteristic relations to one another, and the action of each figure expresses vividly the thought, feeling, and incidents of its situation. But in The School of Athens and the remaining frescos of the Stanze, as also in the Sibyls of Sta. Maria della Pace, we fail to see the so often alleged imitation of Michael Angelo. It is true that there is a more varied, nobler, broader style, than in compositions of anterior dates, the evident results of a constant study of nature and the antique. One looks in vain for any excess or grandiose exaggeration ; their delicate sentiment, pure forms, harmony of color, and exquisite grace and loveliness, are wholly Raphaelesque, as is also their entire unimpassioned- ness. We never feel that Raphael's works are any RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 27 l part of his own experiences, that he breathed into them the breath of his own life, as did Michael Angelo; rather, that they are taken from the sub- jects of his observations — the streets of Rome, the crowds gathered in great churches or under broad- spanned archways. If we were in a position to make decrees, one of the first issued would be that Raphaels, Michael Angelos, and Giovanni da Udines should not sub- ject their masterpieces to the accidents of palace walls — or any other walls, for that matter. It does seem such a waste — these lyrics of philosophy, youths in luminous .angelhood, Sibyls beautiful in age, like the aged of the Elysian Fields, now pallid, mottled with dampness, and distorted by widening cracks. It makes us sad; but we are mindful of our gains in spite of the fading, stains, and insecurity of plaster. Later, we climbed the steep path which leads to San Onofrio, refreshing ourselves with the odor and brightness of flowers that choked chinks in wayside walls, and overspread gardens and slopes. Within the church is the tomb of one whose heart beat and cheek glowed with the fire of genius. Weary and worn, Tasso sought the adjoining convent, to wait for spring and a laurel crown. The sweet vernal season came, but the poet had grown pale as the 276 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. fading April violets. On the eve of the day set apart for his triumph, when the favors of the Capi- tol were to console him for injustices, loves, and failures, the white-winged angel of death hovered over the uncrowned head, and he yielded the shad- owy, ambitious laurel for a celestial diadem, mur- muring " In manus tuas, Domine." After the glare and noise the peaceful sleep; after the sultry day the starlit night and golden streets ! In a small corridor of the convent, one finds a memento of Leonardo da Vinci — an exquisite fresco, representing the Virgin and Child with the donatorio. Though it is much injured, the witching grace, magic tenderness, and unsolvable riddle of sentiment, which characterize him, are plainly visible ; as also his mas- terly finish and theory of light and coloring. The oak in the convent garden, planted by Tasso, was blown down some years since, but vigorous young shoots have sprung up in its place, fit symbols of the genius immortal in the Gerusalemme Liberata. In the garden St. Filippo Neri used to preach, and teach young children to sing the original forms of his oratorios. From, the portico of San Onofrio we gazed upon a billowy flood of beauty — mountains of every form and color, about whose peaks dark clouds floated, while the sun sprinkled the valley- spaces with showers of gold. Roof-terraces full of RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 277 bloom, balconies wreathed with lustrous vines, and lengthened shadows of pine-tree and cypress, were crowded together in picturesque confusion. Palace- windows and church spires glittered like jewels set in molten silver; but above all towered the cross of St. Peter's, a single golden star, its centre ra- diating "all the splendors of infinite light," a mes- senger of peace, hope, and good- will to man; while over the backward-sloping hill and the perfumes of the neighboring garden, came spring's gentle handmaid, the soft south wind, from far-off islands of the sea. XXIY. THE COLONNA, ROSPIGLIOSE, AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. A good thing to do on a fine afternoon is to go to the Colonna Gardens. AVe found the way, follow- ing a trail of perfumes — immense baskets of roses, camellias, and orange blossoms, en route for a fete at the palace, the residence of the French ambassador. The palace occupies the neighborhood of the site of an ancient fortress, which became celebrated during the wars between the Colonnas and Orsinis. It is conr- paratiyely a modern structure, but is nevertheless eloquently suggestive, its mediaeval memories and legends furnishing abundant food for thought. The entrance is through a grand hall, made somewhat gloomy by deep, almost black, shadows that time-has put into the portraits on the walls. Disfeaturing indistinctness gives them a mysterious, puzzling sort of interest; — an unremunerative entertainment to a definitive curiosity, however, for in vain one seeks traces, facial or otherwise, of qualities which made THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 279 the Colonnas disturbers of the Church, or of those that inspired Petrarch to sing their praises, hailing them as "Gloriosa Colonna, nostra speranza." Old tapestries adorn rooms leading to the Picture Gallery, making occasional bits of brightness against dark walls. Inspecting such rare treasures, touching their antiquated glories, the delicate smoothness of their beautiful, intricate webs, one ought to dream, — to feel himself somehow become historical, forever linked to past ideas and toils. No mouldy, only a tender ancientness appertains to the Colonna hang- ings; their textures are softened and their tone is deepened into velvet-like richness: pale amber tints harmonize the almost pristine freshness of flowers with the frank, fine yellow of gold-threaded borders —a tout ensemble of time-made interests, mellowness, and elegance. The sun came in through an open window like the soul-illumined face of a lover, touch- ing all with a new glitter of beauty, while a twittera- tion of birds, from somewhere between the sea of flowers and cloudless sky without, made a spirited accompaniment to the musical trickling of a garden fountain. The Great Hall of the Picture Gallery is justly noted for the splendors of its decorations. The ceil- ing, painted with frescos representing incidents of the battle of Lepanto, is a Marc-Antonio-Colonna 280 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. memorial. On steps leading to the upper end of the hall lies a bomb, left where it fell during the siege of the city in 1848. Near by we found what most interested us — a portrait of Vittoria Colonna, "the lofty and noble lady " to whom Michael Angelo ad- dressed so many sonnets. Having tendered her property to make amends for the evils her family had brought upon Rome, she retired to fair, world-forget- ting Ischia, where she seemed to feel again "the first sweet sense of innocence and love." Visiting Naples frequently, she breathed the air of that freer intellectual life which was rousing Italy. Moved by the wonderful eloquence of Ochino, Fra Bernardino of Siena, she became a partial convert to his doc- trines, as did the beautiful and learned Giulia Gonzaga. At the palace of the latter gathered a distinguished circle of reformers, whose centre was Valdez, a Spaniard, and a disciple of Ochino. Vit- toria returned to Rome in 1536, her thoughts wholly intent on religious reforms and the hope that Con- tarini would succeed Paul III. — "Thus might the age be happy," she says in one of her letters. It was about this time that she met the man of "four souls," whom she w T as to influence more than did the dead Savonarola; for he not only reverenced her piety, but was captivated by her beauty and intelligence. One cannot read his declaration that by her he had been THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 281 "re-formed, re-made, taught to tread by fairest paths the way to heaven," without wishing the grand, soli- tary man had known Vittoria- Colonna earlier. We see her tall and stately, a princess in all noble quali- ties, coming from her convent retreat along the blooming garden-paths of the Quirinal to San Sylves- tro, where Ochino, who, at her instance, had been summoned to Rome, expounded the Scriptures. In this little church on Monte Cavallo Avere discussed the sentiments and hopes of the society of reformers to which she and Michael Angelo had attached them- selves; its chief feature being the acceptance of the Bible as the source of all truth. Sometimes the gen- tle persuasion of the Marchesa would induce the prince of artists to discourse on painting for the benefit of Francesco d'Ollanda, a Portuguese, who greatly preferred Michael Angelo on painting to Fra Bernardino and the Epistles; to- his journal we are indebted for this fact, and the only known record of Michael Angelo's opinions on Art. We have lingered on our way, but find the gardens none the less charming for these incidental reminis- cences of Vittoria Colonna, one of the noblest and most famous women of Italy, the friend of Eenata of Ferrara and Margaret of Navarre, and in whose ancestral name and virtues the title of Marchesa di Pescara is almost forgotten. The gardens rise, in 282 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. easy ascents of winding walks, fragrant terraces, and shrub-crowded stairways, from the palace to the sum- mit of the Quirinal. The upper terrace commands a fine view of the Capitoline, whose Jupiter-displacing temple, the church of Ara Coeli, makes a solemn shadow against the profaner squareness of Michael Angelo's structures. Somehow the sun manages to throw a glittering stretch of gold athwart the deep blue distance beyond, and touch with a bold dazzle the bits of architecture, campanili, arches, windows, and balconies, that, with the broader lines of the landscape, go down the Capitoline to the Forum. Over the near stone parapet trails the rich green of interlaced myrtle vines; a weather-worn goddess, in soft, mossy " stuffs," with free flowing locks of pale green tendrils, specked with tiny white flowers, poses in the foreground; and grand old trees, luxuriant in leafage, make shade and shelter, and long-drawn shadow-blue vistas. The ruins of a temple of the sun, broken friezes, weedy staircases, fragments of columns, and the bare Torre di Nerone, all take a delicious color from the ambient air; and the sun- shine, from the westward stooping, reaches the ter ra-cotta jars of the old orangerie, warming into a delectable glow — and a temptation — the ripe, golden fruit. "VVe turn from the garden — Paradise was a garden — and ringing a bell at a little gate, are ad- THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 283 mitted into the square of Monte Cavallo. At our left, Castor and Pollux, colossals, rein in their won- derful steeds at the base of an obelisk which jour- neyed from Egypt in company with that in front of Sta. Maria Maggiore. Phidias and Praxiteles are inscribed on the bases of the statues; whether they were wrought by the illustrious Greeks or not, is small matter to us. We find the Berlin nicknames "Progression Checked and Retrogression Encouraged" applicable to the movements of the Titanic marvels. Across the square is the Rospigliose palace, and in the Casino is Guido's "Aurora" — a poem, all grace and beauty, written in celestial colors for the music of the spheres, and suspended in air, or rather on the ceiling of the Casino. Nothing can be more charming than this composition, — the hand-in-hand circling hours hurrying on with the fleecy clouds, the mettled steeds, coursers of the chariot of the sun, impetuous with fiery haste; above, a beautiful cherub bearing a naming torch — the herald or morn- ing star; and in advance Aurora, her queenly self, sailing on golden clouds through the yet shadowful air, scattering roses, and bringing light and warmth to the awakening earth. The work, as a whole or in detail, is thoroughly complete; the feeling is gay, joyous; the color luminous with the thought of coming dawn; and the movement aerial, as well as 284 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. swift and regal, as an Aurora should be. The Casino hall was filled with copyists, the Aurora being a favorite subject with amateurs, as well as with those who copy masterpieces to supply human nature's daily needs. Some one has said that Rome in May is worth waiting for. This was made clear to our apprehen- sion in the garden of the Casino — a queer little garden, raised many feet from the roadway, and through which, by a stone staircase, one reaches the Casino. We never saw such wealth of roses, ca- mellias, -and azaleas; the beds were heaped with them ; they crowded into the paths, and climbed over the walls. There was every variety — cream color and crimson, white and pale pink, light green leaves and bronzed ones, and others " stained through with red." And the air was loaded with their fragrance, and that of heliotrope and jessamine, till its breath was almost an intoxication; it enveloped one in a vapory dream of mystery and enchantments. The longer one remains in Rome, the stronger grows its hold on the imagination. In the Vatican, on the Campigdolia, and before the grandeur of the Coliseum, one is absorbed and self-forgetting, letting the days glide into weeks, and the weeks into months. You have a desire to make stores as full as possible for the afterward, when you may enjoy at THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 285 leisure the results of all the walking, looking and questioning; thus thinking, we go from villa to pal- ace, from church to gallery, and are never weary of suggestions, subjects, or routes. The road to Sta. Maria Degli Angeli, by the Piazza Barberini and the Villa Massimo Rignano, with its fine palms, once a part of the Garden of Sallust, is especially delightful. From the Villa we proceed by Sta. Maria Vittoria and the Fountain of Termini (whose ugly Moses ought to have killed the author at its birth, not waited for ridicule to do it) to the church which was built on the site and out of the ruins of the Baths of Diocle- tian. On the right of the entrance is the tomb of Carlo Maratta, the date of his death being 1713; on the left is that of Salvator Rosa, who died 1673. Against one of the piers stands Houdon's famous statue of S. Bruno. The body of the church is filled with pictures brought from St. Peter's, their places being supplied with mosaic copies. But that which pleases us most, in the interior of the edifice, is the peculiar subdued brilliancy of tone — a light such as we sometimes see in fine pictures, an unobtrusive sun- shine of its own. Adjoining the church is the cele- brated monastery, with fine cloisters, built by Michael Angelo, and the well surrounded by grand cypresses. From our house at the top of the Spanish steps, the walk to Sta. Maria Maggiore through the 286 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. Quattro Fontana, a continuation of the Felice, is one of the pleasantest in the city. The street is alive with picturesque delights, but none attract us so much as the groups of contadini coming from or going to the village neighborhoods: among them are models decked in their posing finery; it may be a long- haired and bearded fierce-eyed old man, who serves equally well as a prophet or bandit; or better, it is a sweet, tender-faced young, girl, with wide, dreamy eyes, carrying in her arms a beautiful boy, and as she sits down by the wayside with her little burden, we see how lovely should be the artist's Madonna. In its construction, the church is an example of fine effects obtained by simple means; one might al- most think himself in a Greek temple. The decora- tions are in an entirely different spirit. The roof is a miracle of carving, and is gilt with gold sent to Al- exander VI. by Ferdinand and Isabella, it being the first brought to Spain from South America. There is an endless fascination in the dark-red and violet hues of the splendid opus-alexandrinum pavement; they en- liven the white and gold tones of the wall, and har- monize with the mosaic frieze above the white mar- ble columns of the nave. A baldacchino over the high altar is supported by porphyry columns wreathed with gilt leaves, and surmounted by figures of an- gels. We fancy that there is a sentiment of friendli- THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 287 ness in the cheerful, light tone of grandeur, and gen- eral warm radiance of gold, crimsons, and sapphire, inviting the weary, solitary, and burdened to comfort at altars and confessionals. The finest chapels are the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, built by him who, once a shepherd boy at Montalto, came to command kings — Sixtus V. ; and the Borghese, opposite, with its two white popes, its precious alabasters, its altar of fluted jasper, and its memories of the gentle Princess Borghese, the English Lady, Gwendoline Talbot. The last time we saw the church of Sta. Maria Maggiore, was on a Sunday afternoon. The vesper Angelus was rolling through its vastness — a sea of sound beating against a sea of color; a warm light streamed in through the western window panes; and two canons in white vestments, looking like marble figures, knelt before the altar of the tri- bune. A few people were passing in and out by the great portal, others moved softly about aisles, going from one "station" to another, while some knelt on the hard pavement or against one of the marble columns. When the lights on the altars be- gan to grow bright, like the coming out of little stars, the nooks and corners to grow shadowy, and the roof to seem moving far away from us, the music ceased. The church became very still, and we stole out, taking the picture with us as a memento. XXV. T I V L I . One may not leave Rome without going to Tivoli. The road, the ancient Tiburtina, is less beautiful than others about Rome, being across a desolate portion of the Campagna, whose dreary brown is relieved only by the green "willow-fringed" banks of the Anio and small streams that pour their waters into it; beside which cluster perhaps now and then a few pale primroses. Occasionally we see the pavement of the ancient via; historical sites, those of temples, castles, and towns, may be descried on either side, if the tourist feels inclined to take the trouble of identifying them. A short distance beyond Ponte Lucano — famous in a pic- ture of Poussin — and the massive castellated tomb of the Plautii, a lane leads to the gate of Hadrian's Villa. In spite of the ruthless hand of " Signor Rosa," who pulled up the flowers, tore the vines from the ruins, and put out the blinking eyes of tivoli. 289 little periwinkles, we found banks purple with vio- lets, crocus-blooms in shady places, and the air laden with the breath of wild roses. The ruins cover acres of glades, avenues, and grassy arenas; it is no won- der that the shapeless, confused masses are the craze of archa3ologists. Our guide tells us that on this hillock stood the palace; there was the Therma, and in the field beyond the Hippodrome; this mound of broken masonry was the Lyceum, that the re- mains of a temple; and. in the valley before us were the Elysian Fields. The reticulated wall of a por- tico — the roof covered with bas-reliefs representing Cupids, groups of reclining figures, and curious musi- cal instruments — is still standing, the most perfect of the ruins. We rested by one of the columns, and tried to picture all as seen by the fleeing Benedict on his way to Subiaco in the fifth century — the splendors of marble, bronze, and gold, gems stolen from the temples of Athens and Egypt, treasures brought from Babylon and the Ebro — when purple- bannered boats floated on the Canopus, and Greek songs and the odor of incense filled the air. In whatever gallery we have found ourselves, some- thing from Hadrian's Villa has confronted us — a thing no longer a matter of wonder, knowing its territorial extent, and that he plundered the world to build it. 290 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. From the Villa, the road winds zig-zag-wise up the hill, through magnificent groves of olive trees, with foliage of a subdued tender gray, as if they kept in memory those of another Mountain, and the scenes of the garden of Gethsemane. As we look up, coming from below, the delicately pointed leaves and small white blossoms trembling at the lightest touch of the breeze, the white, gnarled, twisted, and loop-holed branches make fantastic traceries — silvery arabesques — against the misty azure between us and the sky. Reaching the top of the hill, we pass a five-towered castle, and are in the streets of Tivoli, the Tibur of the ancients, where Horace, would fain make his rest — our Horace, not the classic poet, though the latter once uttered a like sentiment. The region is a mine of memories, natural beauties, and legendary charms. If the names clinging to sites have any truth in history, here the emperors built their villas, filled them with treasures of art, adorned gardens with flashing fountains and white statues, and planted ilex and crypress walks. Zeno- bia, the captive queen of Palmyra, dwelt near the town, in a beautiful villa, the gift of Aurelian, and married her daughters to noble Romans. And poets flocked hither — Horace to whom Maecenas gave a farm, and in return, the poet, verses; Propertius sing- ing love-songs to the " golden maid of the Tibur " ; TIVOLI. 291 and Statius praising the dwelling of Vobiscus and its Olympian delights, the roof-tree whence one " gazed on still and silent woodlands." Centuries later Ari- osto dedicated fine poems to Cardinal d'Este, and dwelt with him in his magnificent villa. We made our first halt at the Temple of the Sibyl, a circular building with Corinthian columns, perched on the edge of a cliff, its orange hue festooned with green, ivy, and clematis. On one side the great fall thundered forth its deep bass, and on the other lighter notes of small cascades went through a spark- ling fugue, intelligible no doubt to the sirens who dwell in the caverns below. The sloping foreground was a confusion of foliage — pine trees and dark cypress branches, thickets of roses, acacias, and lau- rels, and here and there a gray mass of rocks, with a white umbrella, and somebody under the umbrella sketching. Through gradually-descending, garden- like walks, we were led down to the Grottos — deep caves dug in the rocks by the persistence of falling waters. Here was the bed of the Anio till 1826, when, because of damaging inundations, the govern- ment changed the course of the river, and in 1834 completed the present artificial cascade, three hun dred and twenty feet in height. The natural beauties of Tivoli offer an ever-chang- ing panorama of enchantments; each picture seeming 292 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. the loveliest and most perfect while it lasts. Fol lowing a path along the valley, we cross to the slopes of Monte Peschiavatore, and the little chapel of La Madonna di Quintiliolo, a point opposite the small cascades. Local tradition derives the name from Quintilius Varus, whose villa may have been in this neighborhood; inlaid pavements and statues have been found here, with other remains indicating it as the some-time locality of a sumptuous villa. Along the roadside were benches and parapets where idlers sat; beneath us were deep ravines, sombre with dark green branches, whose rustle mingled with the roar of waters; old convents and chapels peeped out -of mountain nooks, while others seemed to cling to bare cliffs; hyacinths, violets, and anemones covered the banks, or crushed under our feet, giving delicious odors with the sacrifice. On the opposite side, be- neath the huge pile misnamed the Villa of Maecenas, a thousand small cascades seemed a snow-white bank of ripple and spray, as they leaped and danced and foamed on their way down to the Anio. Above rose the town with its odd old houses, castles, and towers, hoary trees, and glitter of sunshine, and beyond were glimpses of vast dreamy distances of Campagna. Below Quintiliolo, in the depths of the valley, we took a path winding through an olive wood, and found the bridge of the golden water, but not the tivoli. 293 maid of the fountain, unless a golden-haired child belonging to a party of English tourists might have been taken for her. At the top of an ascent leading back to the town, we met what might have proved a fortune to Henry James, Jr. — a whole army of " American types." They were taking their luncheon, but we preferred ours in one of the shady avenues of the Villa d'Este. The villa has lost something of its imposing grandeur. Desolation has entered, stalking through the courtyard and chambers, while Melancholy sits under the laurels, frowning at lilacs, and picking to pieces roses and orange blossoms. The statues are mossy and green-eyed; the immense fountains are overgrown with maiden-hair, and the arches choked with tangled masses of foliage; but water murmurs in the stone runnels, and birds sing in the cypress branches. We did not wait on the garden terrace for the sunset, but took it later from the brow of the hill, the evening purple and shadows mingling before we reached the plain. Homeward by moonlight ! how beautiful and grand it was ! We drove round by the Fountain of Trevi, that a parting draught of its sweet waters might insure our some- time return, for on the morrow we were to leave Rome. XXVI. FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. We left Kome at 5 p. m. The initial cheerlessness of the Campagna seemed a fitting prelude to the lugubriousness of a moonless night journey. Along the route there were no streams, no aqueducts, no dismantled castle walls; and the leafage of trees was the scantiest, and of the somberest tints. Na- ture, wholly indifferent to the funereal aspect, makes no compensating efforts; the waste and mournf ill- ness are enlivened neither by song of bird in shel- tering branches nor bloom of flowers covering long monotonous undulations — the filled-up trenches of dead and buried ages. We were thankful for the beauty of the sunset, a soft azure sky streaked with flashes of crimson changing into gold, with a final gorgeous flood-burst of orange ; and for the delicious, tender twilight, its serenity invaded only by visions of our vanished joys, the weeks in Kome. We knew when we had entered the region of FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 295 the Apennines by the purer atmosphere, and a sud- den chilliness that had stolen into the air. Forms grew strangely weird and fantastic ; scenes of ghostly disorders glared at us as we rushed by dimly lighted stations. When we halted, gleaming eyes and sallow bronzed visages were at our carriage windows, vehe- ment gesticulations vying with vehement dialects to make us comprehend appeals or threats. We longed for daylight; its first faint signs were hailed with definite expressions of gratitude. A clear sunrise soon dispelled vague confused interminglings of dreaming and waking, revealing to us a succession of charming views, green valley reaches closely pressed by wooded slopes, far - heaped - up heights, monstrous splits in rocky crags bridged by suspen- sions of ivy, overhanging citadels, bastions of crumb- ling castle walls, and tall, glittering monastery tow- ers, from which rang out merry chiming matin bells. A boy, aged five, the dear " precocious " of a party, was the first to discover Lake Thrasymene. With paternal aid he had been lifted to an advantageous position, and to an appreciative one, doubtless, by readings of "Lays of Ancient Rome," a dog-eared copy of which was the object of his especial care. The lake, "reedy Thrasymene with dark Verbena," was for us, a real, liquid splendor, sapphire set in oak and olive wood. It preserves always a fair and 296 .A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. passionless beauty, for it is said that storms have little effect on its shallow waters. A veil of mist hung over the lake, filling the lovely, low- lying- basin between the hills on a certain spring morning a. d. 217. Flaminius, Koman consul and general, in hard pursuit of Koine's direst foe, rejoiced, think- ing under its cover to gain the clear hilltops, and the rear -guard of the enemy. But it proved no friendly gossamer for him. Flaminius . left the de- file of Passignano only to lead his brave legions to certain death. Punic arms bristled unseen on every crag, choking the pass, "And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red." Arrezzo passed, we had glimpses of valleys be- tween dark pine-wooded slopes cutting the Val d' Arno, while the latter, contracting, stretched far away into misty distances beyond sun -illumined Vallombrosa. Milton remembered Vallombrosa and wrote of Paradise. Tuscan air grew milder; rose-bushes peeped over high walls, and oleanders and pomegranates bloomed by villa gateways. Emerging from the temporary darkness of a mountain tunnel, we suddenly descried Brunelleschi's giant dome, which catching the shim- mer of auroral splendors seemed a mountain of mol- FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 297 ten gold. The campanile of San Miniato defined itself against the paling blue of the sky. Fiesole with her summit-enthroned cathedral smiled serenely in the midst of her high gardens, the lovelier for a minor touch of cypress shadow here and there, and we knew that below lay fair Florence. A few moments of alert expectancy and she was visible, a white con- fusion of spires and towers rising above sunlit masses of verdure, — also the broad luxuriant plain of the Arno with liberal, far-away-leading vistas, and yel- low river winding, twisting and glittering. Alighting at the station we were driven at once to Casa Guidi, where a friend had secured us apart- ments. After the homage of a few hours to fatigue, and the inspection of our quarters, we turned for first impressions to " Casa Guidi Windows," recall- ing a famous "meditation and a dream." And lis- tening, we, too, heard a child go singing by the church, but the song was not the " bella liberta " heard by a poet prophetess, who gazing out of these same windows saw such visions — trains of orderly processions, Florentine eyes flashing with Lombard triumph, the flight of Duke Leopold and his com- ing back, Tuscany flooded with Austrian armaments, the people's gains by blood and strife, and Charles Albert in his " Oporto shroud." She looked, prayed, prophesied, and trusted God's ways for Italy. Sing- 298 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ing to-day, her strains would have lost their note of anguish. Casa Guidi is an unadorned stucco struct- ure with large rectangular windows, and opens di- rectly upon the street. Near the entrance, just above the first story casement, a simple tablet records the fact that here Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote and died, and that grateful Florence erected the tablet. Having made acquaintance with the general to- pography of the city, we drove one afternoon to the Cascine, the fashionable rendezvous of Florentine pleasure seekers. It is a delightful resort, with smooth, emerald-like lawns, avenues of ivy-mantled trees, and a river, the Arno, wandering toward dis- tant purple mountain slopes. Handsome equipages roll up and down the broad drives, or stand in open spaces that their occupants may chat with promena- ders. We had chosen one of those warm, tender- tinted days that harmonizes details, and makes the tout-ensemble of things of earth and air seem per- fect. There was color, and fragrance, and musical Tuscan glibness everywhere; each, however, had largest expression in the square of the great Cafe. Here a band, "of wind and stringed instruments," played familiar airs, but we found fascination in tables heaped w r ith flowers — flowers of every possi- ble form and every conceivable hue; crimson thorn- blossoms, lovely heliotrope, ranging from imperial FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 299 to sky purple, flames of nasturtiums, red and yellow, and fair orange buds and bloom, pinks and crysan- themums, starry passion flowers, bunches of violets held together with straw threads, roses, pale and sweet, and dark roses, velvet reel, but heavy with fragrance, and bright with crystal drops, — the spray of a fountain keeping this floral array as fresh and glittering as though yet wet with morning dew. Filling a basket with the choicest blossoms, we drove to the Protestant Cemetery. It is a matter of regret that the former seclusion and picturesque beauty of the place have been sacrificed to icono- clastic repairs, the ivy -covered walls demolished, and the grand old cypresses of the hill, cut down. A white marble, sarcophagus-like monument covers the final resting-place of the before-mentioned gen- tle Englishwoman who made the wrongs of "Bella Italia" the theme of her sublimest inspirations. One of the panels bears her portrait in basso-relievo, and beneath are the initials E. B. B. 1861. A faded floral tribute of other hands we reverently replaced with our fresher roses and violets, sprinkling them with water from a near garden well that they might the longer keep their beauty and their fragrance, and hoping that a few root tendrils left as if by chance might spring to life, crowding their purple bloom upon the cold marble, and filling the air 300 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. with their odorous breath ere another blossoming mid-May. We soon settled to a quiet enjoyment of our cheerful quarters, to which little touches of our own hands had given something personal and homelike. Romola and the Life of Savonarola were road aloud, and then each began for him- self the History of the Commonwealth. Taken thus into the atmosphere of the old, we obtained a key to signs and meanings in stone, and marble, and frescoed wall. - One of the nearest objects of interest to us, was; the Pitti Palace, an imposing structure of monu- mental intentions and effects. It is a wonder not only for its vast lines and gigantic proportions, but for the massiveness of its material. The larger blocks of the ground story are twenty-five feet long, dark, rugged, suggesting sections of mountains, and Cyclo- pean hands. The architectural forms are as severe and grandiose as the material, consisting of immense quadrangular walls topped by massive balustrades, stout Doric pillars, robust resistant Corinthian col- umns, and colossal arches, the whole bristling with high reliefs, sharpness of angles and hugeness of bosses. It wins our homage as an individual maj- esty, for around it lingers real glory of Renaissant architecture, originality, intellectual audacity, and FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 301 impressive simplicity; also actual glory of the palmy days of Florence as a people and power, for from its solidarity it cannot have been greatly affected by shifting policies. The palace was built by Luca Pitti, an ambitious Florentine merchant, whose de- scendants sold it to the Medici in the sixteenth century. Victor Emanuel occupied the Pitti so long as Florence was the national capital. We fancy that the huge simplicity of its exterior bet- ter suited the strong indomitable " Be Galantuomo" than the extravagant splendors of the interior. The Grand Ducal apartments fairly glow with gorgeousness, but their tone is soft because of exqui- site harmony in details. Every room seems golden roofed, so great is the preponderance of gilt in fres- cos and borders of ceilings or cornices. Many of the frescos belong to Medicean times, their pur- pose being to honor the reigning family. One tries to forget history and believe allegory, Cortona's or Fedi's Cosmo I. as a type of heroic exploits in the famous Minerva, or attended by Glory and Virtue as in another mythological representation. Richness of material and artistic skill in minor decorations, in heavy tapestries and arrays of furniture seem almost unexampled. Pietradura tables, malachite and lapis- lazuli, cabinets of ivory inlaid with pearl, some rep- resenting the toil of a lifetime, and wonderful gold 302 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. cups and vases, masterpieces of Cellini, contrive to bewilder the admiration, while the floors are remark- able marble mosaics, or are covered with carpets wrought in some land of enchantment, where text- ures vie with color. In these wonders we recognize the luxury, splendors, and pomps, by which sover- eigns manifested and maintained their rank; and one notes how well they harmonize with princely refinements, ceremonies and festivities, whether of Grand Dukes or Kings.. Medicean princes, however worldly they may have been in their aims, became connoisseurs in all the progressive movements of their age. Their intel- ligent patronage quickened the development of in- tellectual forces already generated in Tuscany, conditioning them, and making Florence not only the center of general culture but home of Art. Certainly a people could not have nobler specialties, those with sublimer motives or more generous uni- versality. Florence showed herself worthy her op- portunities, subordinating everything to aesthetic impulses. By dominant good taste, skill and pa- tience, she maintained her supremacy, and preserved in main the pure ideals of the Medicean rule. Thus she became the possessor of an unbroken heritage of beauty, in painting sculpture and architecture. Later centuries have not only " spared injury," but FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 303 have cared for and added to her wealth, hence the atmosphere of palaces, galleries and churches is cheerful, sometimes a little crepuscularly tender, but never oppressive. The notable collections of the Pitti Palace were made by the Medici; and they unmistakably indi- cate the intentions and relations of these patron princes to Art and artists. The collections belong to the so-called best period of Italian art, or the last of the fifteenth and greater part of the sixteenth century. There is an occasional work of earlier times, but we find Kaphaels, Titians, Paul Veroneses, and Vandykes in masterful abundance. Raphael's Madonna della Seggiola, the patron picture of so many Art-devotees, is infinitely more beautiful than any copy or engraving yet made of it. Its beauty, however, is wholly physical; it suggests nothing of spiritual emotions, either from without or within. We prefer his Grand Duke's Madonna, which is seemingly a single thought, a concentrated spiritual life or experience. There is a kind of semi-sacred- ness in the apparent conscious apartness from worldly things, and in the evident capabilities for miraculous impressions. Andrea del Sarto, of whom we have hitherto known little, gains in our love. Successive visits to the Pitti reveal innumerable attractions in one 304 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. whom the present age consents to call " second rate." His technical qualities were considered so far above criticism by his contemporaries that they sometimes characterized him as " il pittore senza errori. n The types indicated in his pictures have tl;e purest moral excellence, and there is certainly nothing false about him either in taste or style. His color though not brilliant, is rich, and effect- ive in grave tones and peculiar blendings of hues — low, yet lustrous harmonies. If he lacks poetic inspiration, and is occasionally incomplete, he is always graceful, tranquil and strong. His St. John Baptist is infinitely lovely, being not on'ly poetic, but having a completeness of conception and finish not unworthy the golden age of Art. Outside the interest of his broad browed Madonnas, comely saints and stately apostles, there is a certain mysterious, strangely subtle charm in his pictures, the clue to which it is difficult to find. We feel that it is el- emental, and sometimes think we have it in the deep shadows — that they are reflected notes of melancholy, touches of suffering in some form that thus express themselves, and appeal to what may be responsive in us. As represented in the Pitti Galleries, Paul Vero- nese is a quite u au cord retire" of Andrea del Sarto. The former's distinctive characteristics seem to be FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 305 sunshine and glitter, scenic displays and massed gorgeousness. If possible, he idealizes magnifi- cence, the sheen of satin and brocades, silver and gold plate, pomps of courts and processional pa- geantries, all imaginable wealth and worldliness. One of his best pictures in the Pitti is his Bap- tism of Christ. In this, technical and spiritual ele- ments blend more harmoniously than in many of his works. There is the beauty of both under an apparently firm realistic handling of the subject. As a composition, it is a unity of loveliness, broad in conception and sentiment and varied in details. The heads are wonderfully fine; the faces express a serene, heaven-born joy; the figures are noble, vigorous and handsomely draped, particularly that of the Christ with the beautiful purple Venetian cloth about the loins; and attitudes and move- ments all seem eloquent with the purposes of the story. In the landscape there is that largeness, with open sky spaces and opulence of Nature that Veronese especially delighted in, while form, color, light and shadow, are made to act as visible and direct interpreters of his intentions; pictorially noth- ing can be finer than the radiant glow of the early morning, and the clear silvery tints of the atmosphere. In the domain of portraiture, the Venetian masters, if fairly represented in this collection, are unequalled, 306 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. particularly in the power of expressing personality of character. In Titian's Emperor Charles the Fifth, we see a man who worked his own will, not by indi- vidual might only, but by the " divine right of kings." It is in the face, the superb pose of the head; in the puffed sleeves and trailing skirt of the sumptuous robe, and in the tread, that of majesty. The most remarkable portrait, the masterpiece of the gallery, is also Titian's. A man of, perhaps, thirty-five years, in black. The head is small, face thin and pale, the eyes blue, with an intense out- look. He is evidently a Venetian of noble birth, one habituated to a life of anxieties, quick to resolve, and energetic in action; handsome, dangerous, and defiant. " Ritratto virile" is the information the cata- logue offers, so one may weave a story to suit his own fancy. Da Vinci's white-veiled "Nun" is no doubt a portrait, for it has all the actuality of life. AVorldliness and cloister-life are strongly contrasted in the same person, the black robe, low-necked, the colorless face with carnation lips, luminous yet watch- ful eyes, disquiet just discernible, and that fugitive, uncertain smile seen in many of his ideal pictures. As a portrait, it comes nearer the Venetian excel- lence in innerness of individuality; or if ideal, it simulates it more nearly than do Kaphael por- traitures. FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 307 If by any happy chance it was permitted, when we left the galleries we went into the Boboli Gardens. They are naturally as well as artificially picturesque, being scattered over uneven undulations, which not only enlarge their apparent size, but give level out- looks to distant mountains dotted with villas and villages. The views from the amphitheatre are par- ticularly charming; the stone benches have cypress- curtained backgrounds. We sat there and watched the cool shadows steal into the dusky ilex-walks. There was a fascination in the deep stillness of shadowy vistas, groves, and grottos — a stillness that at times became solemn and oppressive, as if haunted by the ghosts of by-gones; memories and regrets pro- jected, perhaps, from the Palace ! XXVII. PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND EIESOLE. It was once the custom to strew with flowers, on the anniversary of the event, the stone marking the place of Savonarola's martyrdom; — we renewed the custom one bright morning as we turned our pilgrim feet toward the notable shrine in the Piazza della Signoria, procuring therefor the fairest and sweetest near Ponte Vecchio. In stone and air lin- gers "the odor of a sincere man's virtues," and if one choose he may feel a presence standing where the mutilated cross stood. Savonarola, torn from the struggling monks and his " dear brother " of San Marco, was dragged back through serried ranks of deriding faces to the Piazza, where but lately he had braved the vengeance wrought of lust and strife in his so-called Bonfire of Vanities, and the virtual failure of the Trial by Fire. To what degree of faith in the supernatural his habits of ecstatic con- templation may have carried him, we know not. When the rain fell, wetting the heaped-up pyre, PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 309 the happening hoped for by both Franciscans and Dominicans, he knew himself dishonored, and read his doom in the triumph of his enemies. He was imprisoned in the tower of the Old Palace : there he passed the intervals of torture previous to his actual Trial by Fire — the- supreme moment of his exaltation, when he could say, "I count as nothing: darkness encompasses me: yet the light I saw was the true light": and a solemn, eternal silence fell upon him. The old tower still rings bells, the life-current in human hearts responds to the same loves, but not the same hates, that "for something better" still sighs and needs; and renunciation is still the sum of what is best even in earnest striving lives. The Palazzo Vecchio is perhaps the most unique structure in Florence, certainly one that architectur- ally and historically asserts a grand and impressive individuality. Within its shadow have culminated many of the civil dissensions, cruel domestic trage- dies, and terror-striking "Masques of Furies," that have successively convulsed the fair city, from the notable struggles for ascendency between Guelph and Ghibelline to the time of its occupancy by the present government. Storms raged in palace, square, and street, but meanwhile there was at work in the heart of the city another life, an element that would build, elaborate, and adorn. From contending ranks 310 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. emerged a long line of Tuscan immortals, — artists, poets, and lovers of country, — whose names come down through the centuries to us, and in whose achievements we recognize the necessities, longings, and conditions of prominent epochs of Florentine history. In the light of thought the past is recon- ciled with the present, while the future, in promises renewed and strengthened, is expectant of greater, nobler deeds. The despot's hand no longer op- presses, and ecclesiastical rule has small sway. In- stead of foreign aid, w T ith the roll of drums and tramp of horses along the Pisan road, a gay throng moves that way, en route for a Festa, commemorating the union of the Italian States, — glint and glitter on banners, plumes, and brocaded devices. In the Piazza it seemed to have rained flow r ers — a tumult of color jostled a tumult of light and shad- ow: these latter, rapid workers of miracles, wrought infinitely well, bringing out the beauty of the rough rubble-work of the Palazzo, and the peculiar forms of massive sculptures, and other enrichments of bat- tlements, galleries, arches, and windows. The tow- er, so oddly set upon the front of the huge, fortress- like pile, has a sort of baldacchino crown, with a banner staff rising above, up which, rat -fashion, climbs the Florentine lion. This ever-notable tower grows into one's likings despite its want of symmet- PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZT, AND FIESOLE. 311 ric grace, for it is the prominent coup cTceil in all comings and goings, and is transfigured into a thing of beauty in the golden light of the region into which Arnolfo's daring carried it. There is no more striking feature of the characteristic imprint left upon the city by Arnolfo than this singular tower — a prob- lem in stone, in which vastness of design and colos- sal simplicity verge upon bravado. A decree of the Commonwealth that, "forever after the feet of men should pass over the place of the hearths of pro- scribed nobles," limited the architect in space, and consequently compelled him to dwarf his original designs in building the main structure. Within the Palazzo one feels more intensely its relations to actual history, gets that independent remoteness from present time and circumstance nec- essary to make real to him what he has read. We paused in the beautiful, dim courtyard to take up such threads as we might of its six hundred and more years of story, and admire the lovely fountain of porphyry and bronze, which gives light as well as color to relieve the general shadowy gloominess. The animated, joyous expression of the boy holding back the dolphin, and the aerial, almost winged ac- tion of his pose, have a brightness akin to sunshine; one would say he was born at the bidding of pri- meval air, light, and motion. The frescos of the 312 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. walls have lost their former-time glories, — celestial blues and gold grounds; — Joanna of Austria would scarcely recognize her gay German cities in the pale outlines remaining. Ascending a staircase at the left of the entrance, we reached the famous Sala del Cinquecento, built during Savonarola's control of the government for the accommodation of the Great Councils. It was in this Hall that Victor Emanuel opened the first Italian Parliament in 1864, winning, it is recorded, " the respect of all by his soldier-like simplicity and dignified demeanor." The decorations of the hall are in magnificent style; they were chiefly executed under the Medici, and commemorate their exploits. Another and still more magnificent hall is the Sala del Ducento. Its proportions are fine ; the ceiling is of stone carved in hollow squares, having roses and lilies in relief; the cornice, which is also of stone, bears the shields of the Kepublic, — infinite repeti- tions of crosses and keys and Florentine lilies. We climbed another staircase to the Sala del Orologio, and the Sala del Udienza. In the latter the Council of the Signory exercised their duties, conducting them with religious solemnity; the wine brought to their table was consecrated on the altar of San Michele in the small chapel leading from the hall. A Latin inscription over the doorway of the chapel PALAZZOS YECCHTO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 313 recalls the story of the strange proclamation made from the front of the palace in 1528. In these halls we tried to comprehend the sentiments of those who ruled Florence in the days of the Republic, but in vain ; a medley of situations and ideas presented themselves; the summing-up of all, however, was the conclusion that a certain amount of restiveness, breaking, and blood-letting, was needful to prepare the way for the after period of Art-progress — the so-called Renaissance. In close proximity to the Old Palace is the Log- gia dei Lanzi. There are only three arches, but they are perfect. Nothing can be lighter or more graceful than the columns, capitals and frieze, while the projecting cornice gives unity to all as a structure. The area is raised several feet from the level of the piazza; here stand some of the finest creations of Art, . the Perseus of Benvenuto, Donatello's Judith and Holofernes, a group repre- senting Ajax with the body of Patrocles, John of Bologna's Sabines, and a lovely Thusnelda who still dreams of her native forests. Sitting on the steps of the Loggia, an intensely Italian sun quick- ening the pace of obliging fancy, we saw in the passing crowd forms, faces, and costumes from the galleries of the Pitti and Uffizi, actors in the story of Savonarola, possible Pisans, Pistoians, and Vol- tarans, the people of the Feast of St. John's Day, 314 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. with those who might have played chiefs in the old Florentine " Oblazione." How great was the indigna- tion of the immortal Dante, when advised to purchase, by submitting to its humiliations, return to his be- loved Florence ! Fortunately for us he preferred ex- ile, the pains of which gave birth to his Triple Poem. A stately portico, the arches filled with statues of Florentine heroes, Uberti, Nere and Ferrucci, and pillars adorned with busts of sculptors, paint- ers and poets, leads by Lung 'Arno to the Grand Entrance of the Uffizi. Ascending the one hun- dred and more steps, and passing the vestibule in which are uninteresting statues of the Medici, we reached the first Hall. Gazing down the far vista we were confronted by an array of forms and hues, and openings revealing other vistas leading to inner sanctums. Of these, one was built by Grand Duke Leopold, for Niobe and her children, turned to stone by some Greek at the moment of their signal strug- gle with avenging destiny. Niobe, with the young- est daughter whom she vainly strives to shield from the shafts of Apollo, stands at the farther end .of the room, the other figures being arranged around singly. The slain youth is the finest of the group, — the calm peaceful expression in the face seems to say, "It is sweet to be withdrawn, even thus, from conflict." The figure of the girl wounded in the PAT.AZZOS VECCniO, UFFIZI. AND FIESOLE. 315 neck is very beautiful, as are also the two sisters flying in terror from the scene. Greek art is not seen at its best in the Niobe group, although its distinctive features — repose, strength, and the su- premacy of physical beauty — are manifest. Eeturned to the corridor, bright gleams of sun- light streamed down from the high windows, warm- ing into roseateness first a row of Athletes, then a vailed Vestal Virgin, now a youth drawing a thorn from his foot. A little further down the Hall, two antique Marsyae confront each other, and Rossel- lino's St. John flying into the wilderness shows the high surface-polish peculiar to Cinquecento Art. Lucca della Robbia's relief, representing the 150th Psalm, is one of his most life-like and graceful compositions; his children, youths and maidens sing and dance, and play musical instruments, with wonderfully joyous, spirited activity. Over a doorway of the corridor is Michael Angelo's Mask of a Satyr, chiselled when he was but fifteen years old, the work that attracted Medicean patronage. The gems of the Ufnzi are in the Tribune. Our first glance fell upon the glorious Madonna del Car- dellino of Raphael. This is a full sweet canticle of spiritual beauty. The small Baptist, child of grace and preparation, holds up a tiny fluttering bird, a type of the world, to the Infinite, All-loving Father 316 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. in the Christ Child, whose mission is signified in the gesture of the baby hand, tender, brooding, pro- tecting, as if to say, "Not one of these shall fall." Mary, Virgin mother, is supremely beautiful, a soft glow in the deep, tender eyes, and in the face a shining that might be a recognition of the divineness in the Child-Presence. She holds a book, and may have read, " And He shall grow in wisdom and in strength, to fulfil all order and righteousness." "The Flight into Egypt," has the lovely, veil-like trans- parency, the color and light and shadow, all woven together, peculiar to Correggio's style. The move- ment is melodic, a free play of brightness and dark- ness and palpitating life. The individual figures are miracles of loveliness, their rosiness is like delicate pearl-shell tints; while the landscape has the breadth, freedom and grace of Nature, with fidelity of form and color. Before Titian's Venuses there was a group of visitors evidently divided in opinion; we were compelled to hear enough of the prominent dis- courser's talk to know that it was the old, so-called aesthetic harangue; the beauty, the art-inspiration, the mastership of genius, in which literalness, digni- ty and modesty are to be forgotten. The treasures of the Tribune are not seen to advantage because of the confined space and imperfect light. Outside, near the door of the Tribune, we came PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 317 upon Fra Angelico's Grand Tabernacle. The center piece is a Madonna with a frame-work of angels playing on musical instruments; the panels repre- sent St. Mark and St. John the Baptist. Some one has said that Fra Angelico's messages could have been conveyed by lute or harp quite as well as by form, poses, and color. Certainly in his angel faces are written the scores of heavenly strains — in mystic depths of eyes, broad brows, and radiant halos, — but his visions, whether of angels, saints or Madonnas, need warm gold backgrounds, soft tints of rose or violet, or browns, olives, and saffron, to fold and float, and floods of pure light. We had already seen his Coronation of the Virgin in the Hall of Ancient Masters. In this picture one hears the "lute and viol" above all other harmonies, the per- ceptible thronging — the coming together of the High Court of Heaven. The Madonna bending humbly to receive the crown is very lovely, as are also the groups of attending angels; however, it is not love- liness, but the glory of radiance that is the character- istic feature of the Coronation. The colors are pure, each distinct in hue and tone, and of great brilliancy, and they harmonize perfectly in the general effect of a flood of brightness. It is perhaps the knowledge that the study of collections promises quite as much as the entertain- 318 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. ment to be derived from one or many pictures that makes one willing to spend entire days in galleries. Great as may be the desire for such knowledge, or the enthusiasm in pursuit of it, there is no escaping the consequent fatigue of body and mind, and if one is w r ise he will vary his " days in galleries " with excursions into the country — to Fiesole, or San Mi- niato, or Bellosguardo and Val d'Emo; — happy the one who may go to Vallombrosa ! For Fiesole, we took the road along the banks of the Mugello to the foot of the hill, and climbed thence between high walls hung with vines and shrubs, blooming and odorous, to St. Dominico, where Fra Angelico lived. Higher, we lingered occasionally in the shadow of a cypress tree to look down into the valley of the Arno, noting the generous way it opens into vistas and leads into varying remotenesses, the lovely mountain slopes, their tints deepened here and there by cloud shadows, and the be-pinnacled and be-cupolaed city drowned in a flood of yellow sunlight. In the little square before the Cathedral sat women braiding Tuscan straw. They were pleasing and sub- stantial pieces of picturesqueness, sun-steeped bronze complexions, eyes black and brilliant, blue and white and red in costumes, and the golden braids falling through active fingers into piles of folds or links. Our advent brought the alert to their feet, for the PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 319 forestieri must needs buy, " only forty cents a bunch," twelve yards. The Cathedral is old, but contains lit- tle of interest after the tomb of Bishop Salutati. It is rich only in the lurking shadows of a crowded duskiness, and an atmosphere in which floats historic aroma precious to the Church. In a garden full of flowers we found the ruins of a Roman amphi- theatre, and in the subterranean passages wild animals, the gamin of the town. On the north side of the brow of the hill are interesting remains of fortifica- tions of Cyclopean reputation, — Etruscan remains. Following the lead of a stony path on the side opposite the Cathedral, we reached the apex of the mountain, and were admitted to the gardens of the Franciscan Convent. It is a wonder how the delightfully romantic tangled steeps keep their po- sition, why they do not of their own weight neces- sarily slip down into the dusky gorge below. From the Convent terrace is the famous view, — celebrated in song by Ariosto, and gorgeously word-painted by Ruskin. The latter makes the peaks of Carrara "toss themselves against the western distance, and clouds burn above the Pisan sea." Returning, a little detour took us to the Villa where Landor passed many years of his life, and through the "Valley of illustrious memory" watered by the Affrico and Mensola. XXVIII. THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER, SAN MARCO AND SAN LORENZO. One day we wandered down to the riverside, through the street where Romola lived and Bratti trafficked. Between Ponte Vecchio and Ponte Trinita we found Local color, so-called, not common in Flor- ence, — ancient tumble-down buildings, scrolled hinges hanging loosely in door-ways, courtyard lamp-irons ready to drop from their sockets, and foundations cracked and mouldy. To rickety '-stairways" were moored "flats," or rafts, filled with fruit, vegetables and market women. A yellow light enriched by some atmospheric accident converted battered and disjointed shabbiness into charming picturesqueness, and the Arno so lazily beating at the huge founda- tions, seemed a golden river, a veritable Golconda. Afterward we continued our way into the heart of " Old Florence," or the square of San Martino, encountering signs and meanings in quaint irregular walls, sculpture filled niches, and elaborate designs THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 321 of palaces and churches, and that something in the. air of Florence that might be defined an assertive consciousness of mighty men and deeds. Near the Badia we found a simple doorway bearing the in- scription, " Qui Nacque il Divino Poet." Opposite is the site of Casa Portinari, where on a certain May- day Dante first saw Beatrice. The streets of Florence are lively, not too crowded, and have a sympathetic aspect, the houses pressing one another in friendly fashion. Perhaps, individu- ally considered, the buildings have a certain sternness of expression, the effect of rough-hewn basements, great iron-barred windows, and unusual tallness. In springtime the streets are especially delightful, put- ting on a sort of bright amiability in the profusion of flowers seen everywhere, the fresh green above garden walls, and the renewed attractiveness of shops, particularly of those of prints and mosaics. The vistas stretch away into warm shadow, that of a church, palace, or hillside; a pure azure sky glows above open squares, and the genial Tuscan sunshine lures one into ready enjoyment of entertainments either of Nature or Art. Florentine interest centers in the great square of the Cathedral, or rather in its three Art-won- ders, the Cathedral, Giotto's Campanile, and the noted bronze doors of the Baptistery. The Cathe- 322 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. dral is a monument of what originality in combi- nations may accomplish, having a clear individual physiognomy of its own, in spite of multitudinous forms and mixed styles. Points and angles, swells and oblongs, and circles and octagons, serve happy aptitudes of antique Greek and Roman architect- ure quite as well as modern Gothic and Italian, or unique Byzantine and graceful Oriental, all of which it would seem were used as models by the different designers. The exterior is panelled with precious marbles which give a light cheerful tone to its mountain-like hugeness, and all available places are rilled with sculptures — foilings, ara- besques and statues. But the marvel before which all others are as nothing is Brunelleschi's dome. Like some loftiest Alpine peak, it lifts itself, with •ral lesser ones as accompaniments, quite into celestial heights. A cross, the emblem of man's sal- vation, rising above the pointed lantern, glitters in the sunlight — the topmost jewel of the imperial crown. It strikes the key-note of the grand sym- phony conceived, scaled and unfolded in the mag- nificent structure — the "All glory to Him who cre- ated, sustains and saves us"! The interior is somewhat bare, but it has the grandeur of uninterrupted immensity. There is lit- tle light from without, and no illuminating color THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 323 within except that which comes from the narrow stained-glass windows; thus its tone, a uniform gray, is monotonous, but refreshing to one seek- ing refuge from the heat and dazzle of the street. Its vastness and impressiveness is forcibly realized if one stroll through it at the quiet hour of sunset ■ — the wide distances of nave and aisles, and chapels opening on either side, the hushed, solemn stillness that falls from the silence of grand sweeping arches, and the loftier vaulted spaces with their mystery of symbols, and story and gloom. The great bell rings the Ave Maria, and consecrated places fill with flit- ting shadows; a few devotees move on to the central shining of the high-altar, grown brighter with invad- ing duskiness ; a sense of separateness from the world increases, architectural proportions expand, and the hush and depth and beauty over-arching all, enlarge till we seem to touch the borders of the infinite. The memory of one teacher and prophet remains indissolubly associated with the Cathedral. One pictures the vast nave filled with Tuscan faces, all upturned to the small circular pulpit beneath the dome. There stands the strong -featured, dark- haired preacher from San Marco, his arms crossed upon his breast. His clear-sighted, penetrating glance sweeps the crowd as if it would seek out each individual soul, and with impassioned voice, 324 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. "veloce e infiammativo" he thunders forth anathe- mas: "Kepent and forsake your sins, for the day of vengeance is at hand" ; or breaks out in tender, pas- sionate appeals, "0 Florence, chosen city in a chosen land! do justice, love mercy, put away uncleanness, that the spirit of truth and holiness may fill you, and breathe through your streets and habitations!" Giotto's wonderful tower is a strong square pile, two hundred and fifty feet high; not reaching the limit of the builder's aspiration, for he intended that a spire of thirty feet should surmount the present structure. Its surface is broken by mouldings and cornices into five stories, each glowing with panels of bright colored marbles, set round with medallions and other decorative frame-works. The pointed- arched windows are of exquisite design and work- manship, the larger and topmost being divided by light, ornamented pillars. Foilings and tracings, cornices and columns, bas-reliefs and statues, are all marvellously elegant; the last have the force, def- initeness of expression, and suggestions of movement that distinguished Giotto in sculpture. The tower as a whole is the symbolized utterance of the principal epochs of the civilization of his day rhymed into har- mony. For us it is a thing of beauty and perfection, seen at dawn or midday, by twilights or moonlights, all gemmed in sunshine, all white in shadow. As an THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 325 expression of Christian, catholic faith it is a sweet, musical all-hail to her who is called "Blessed among women." We never looked into the Baptistery without en- countering a Christening party. All children born in Florence of Roman Catholic parentage are brought to its font to be baptized. An Italian baby wrapped in the customary swaddling gear is not an attractive object, looking more like a little mummy than a real, live baby, nor are priest and acolyte in dirty white gowns trimmed with cotton lace, mumbling prayers, drawling out amens and sleepily swinging a censer, interesting accessories. Therefore we allowed the right of preoccupancy to be a prevention of search among the antiquities of the Baptistery, and it must be confessed that for once local dirt, shabbiness, and the sickly odor of damp, mouldy walls were an annoyance to us. But we could study the great doors without entering the inner precincts. The sub- ject of the north door, one of Ghiberti's, is the story of Our Lord from the Annunciation to the Descent of the Holy Ghost. All is told calmly, without the aid of dramatic vehemence or pantomimic super- fluities. There is delightful freshness, simplicity and earnestness in the various composition, and wonder- ful harmony in the work considered as a whole. In the execution of details, the figures, architectural 326 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. forms, and landscapes, Greek art seems to have blos- somed anew in brilliancy and perfection. 1 The subjects of the eastern door, also Ghiberti's, are taken from the Old Testament, beginning with the creation of Adam and Eve, and ending with the visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon. In this work the artist attempted that greater breadth of landscape, and grouping of figures, in varying perspective dis- tances, that obtained for him the distinction of, "a painter in bronze." His delicate taste, suavity in lines, and smoothness and completeness of finish, are due, in great part no doubt, to his long apprentice- ship as a goldsmith. We are told that he was a devotee to Greek art; if so, he saved himself from becoming an imitator by remaining Christian in thought and expression; we hardly mistake one of his soldiers for a youthful Alcibiades, nor his wo- men for Pagan divinities. Andrea Pisano's doors, removed from the eastern side to make place for Ghiberti's, now occupy the south side. They represent the Life of John the Baptist. This work, first in order of time by nearly a hundred years, fills out the story of the two Test- aments. There are twenty panels, the two finest being the Naming of the Child, and the Burial of St. John. In each of these, while there is simpli- city of means, there is beauty of drapery, grouping, THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 327 and technical skill; and great purity of sentiment and depth of feeling is seen in the faces of Angels, Prophets and Evangelists. The frames, studies of fruit, foliage, and animals, were added by Ghiberti, when the doors were placed in their present position. Happily no cowled monk now smilingly interferes when a lady wishes to enter the sunny cloisters of San Marco, for state necessities have converted the Convent into a Museum. But the spirit of the Do- minican order still lingers within, in the St. Peter Martyr over one of the doorways, whose finger upon the lip suggests silence, the rule of the order. The reverent instinctively step lightly and speak in low tones, feeling that the place is sacred by right of the martyr feet that have trod its pavements and the great thoughts and daring deeds that have origi- nated within its walls. In the cell occupied by Savonarola when he was prior of the Convent, we saw his rosary, wooden crucifix, and a desk built in imitation of the one used by him. In the desk was a manuscript copy of several of his sermons, and his treatise on the "Trial by Fire." We are told that it was the desire of Savonarola to make his Convent a sanctuary of Art, recognizing it when consecrated to religious purposes as a power to up- hold faith and quicken devotion. He once said that he felt himself transported into the world of the blessed 328 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. when be looked upon the angels and saints in Fra An- gelica's pictures. The joy he experienced was to his prophetic soul a foretaste of the heavenly joys hoped for and promised to the faithful as their reward. In the Chapter House is Beato Angelico's cele- brated Crucifixion, one of his most studied and fin- ished works. The central figure is the Crucified; around are groups of saints, doctors and fathers of the Church; near are St. Mark and St. John aild the Maries, the Virgin Mother swooning in accor- dance with tradition. There is a framework of prophets and sibyls, and beneath is St. Dominic, the founder of the order. The details are all signi- ficant, and the elaboration is so varied, beautiful and comprehensive, that we gaze with wonder, ex- periencing something of the ecstacy depicted in the faces «f SS. Benedict and Bernard. Regarded as a sincere presentment of the Frate's faith and purposes, it refutes the assertion that he worked merely to give expression to his own feelings. It is very hu- manly pathetic and is intended to excite emotions of deepest, tenderest pity. We feel that the artist must have loved much, that he concentrated in his own soul the yearnings of a large, seeking spiritual life, and that he strove by every accessory means to bring the beholder into conscious sympathy with the sufferings of Christ as his Redeemer. THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER. 329 The Kefectory is made rich by Ghirlandaio's Last Supper. Two pictures could hardly be stronger con- trasts of purposes and effects. Ghirlandaio's seems a brilliant revel of the imagination, an array of color and costumes, handsome faces and superb groupings, a pictorial vision gorgeous and irresponsible. He forgets, and makes us forget, that Christ and His dis- ciples were accustomed to the issues of poverty. Crimson mantles, gold embroidery, and the sumpt- uous picturesqueness of fruit-laden orange trees, with birds of bright plumage, a paradise or peacock, are pleasant to the eye, and belonged to the times of the artist, perhaps to his surroundings, but surely not to the actual truth of the Last Supper, neither to its example .nor its significance. Early one morning we sought out the house of Mi- chael Angelo, kept in repair, and its showing made a source of revenue to a descendant of the nephew Leo- nardo, to whom he addressed occasional letters. We saw the slippers, table and crutches said to have once belonged to Michael Angelo, also the tiny study, some autographs, and a portrait of Vittoria Colonna. But our love and admiration for the greatest of all masters prefers such relics as may be seen in the Sagrestia Nuova of San Lorenzo, the statues of the Medici, Lorenzo and Giuliano, and the recumbent figures at their feet. Neither statue is. to be con- 330 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. sidered as representative in portraiture or character; not till 1875 was it certain for which of the two each statue was intended. The one above Giuliano's tomb is the finer; the cheek rests on the left hand, and the elbow upon a casket held on the left knee, the projecting helmet casting a deep shadow across the face. It is the embodiment of pensive, brooding, all-absorbed contemplation, and might be Michael Angelo himself, or any other earnest thinker striv- ing to solve the great problems of the age. The four figures, Night and Day, Twilight and Dawn, seem colossal in the sense of being dispro- portioned to earthly sentiments. They deal with the mysteries of the borderlands of sleeping and waking, or of death and the life hereafter, represent- ing the most exalted ideas whether of prophecies or fulfilments; they are sorrow and suffering, thought and action, strength and faith, crystallized in the eternity of marble. Taken in their entireness they express, so to say, the passion of the artist, the burden of his destiny, and make manifest the bound- less self-supplying sources from which he drew r his creations, —uncommon experiences, a never wearied imagination, and superhuman will and energy tc work out and combine. Michael Angelo had seen his beloved city van- quished, its freedom destroyed, and a price set on THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 331 his own head by Clement VII. He concealed him- self in the bell-tower of San Nicoli while they searched his house. The Pope finally offered him liberty and the continuance of his former commis- sions. Shutting himself up in San Lorenzo, he wrought out of the weariness, exhaustion and long- ings of his own soul the figure of Night, and wrote on the pedestal, " Sleep is sweet, and yet more sweet is it to be of stone while misery and wrong endure. Not to see, not to feel is my joy. So wake me not! " Kegarded in relation to his own experiences, the Day seems born of a reaction from despondency, a renewal of hope and a strengthening of determina- tion. With Titanic efforts the figure is about to lift itself from the sarcophagus to encounter the inevi- table conditions of life. We fancy that we perceive what is meant by forms and thoughts held in the unchiselled marble, for, although unfinished, the Day has a grand and powerful impersonation. In the undefined features there is individuality, and from the vague depressions below the brow a keen up- ward glance. The other two figures, Twilight and Dawn, have, evidently a higher, more spiritual signi- ficance, typify death and the resurrection, or some- thing beyond and more unseizable. The Dawn is much the finer of the two; the act of waking is manifest in every thing, — the half-rising posture, the 332 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. outstretched arm, the advanced foot, and the hand reaching backward to the veil. ' One of the most interesting churches in Florence is Santa Croce. It is a fine example of Arnolfo's re- markable skill in producing simple grandeur by long lines and clear spaces. The nave is divided into seven arches supported by octagonal columns; be- tween the brackets of the clerestory are handsome stained-glass windows; its pulpit of white Seravezza marble is the most beautiful one known ; and the soft Saracenic tints of former times have been recently re- stored to roof beams. It is not, however, for its beau- ty or its grandeur that Santa Croce is noted, but for the fact that it is the burial-place of so many of It- aly's illustrious dead — Galileo, Cherubini, Macchiavelli, Alfieri, Marsuppini, Michael Angelo and others. Dante sleeps at Eavenna, but he has a monument in the church, and one in the square of Santa Croce; which most dishonors his memory it would be diffi- cult to decide, both are so intolerably ugly. Our last day in Florence was made notable by an excursion outside Porta Eomana. We went first to the hill of Arcetri, " where Galileo stood at night to take the vision of the stars," and whither Milton came as his guest in 1638. The old Tower remains quite unharmed; from its chinks hung ivy leaves, and at its base clustered white stars of Bethlehem, scarlet THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 333 tulips and poppies, while over the grassy slopes were scattered flowers of more quiet garden-ways. Fol- lowing the high road, the air full of the fragrance of almond and peach trees in blossom, we reached Certosa of Val d'Emo. The convent stands on an eminence covered with cypress- trees, amid which its white walls appear like opal against mala- chite. Out of the great pillared cloister open the cells that were once the dwellings of the fathers; from the little loggie they had the loveliest view in the world. The church is especially rich in varied picturesque details of architecture, sculpture, and frescos, all that the most ardent imagination could demand under the cover of devotion. The tombs of the Accaiuoli fam- ily, founders of the convent, are in the chapels of the Crypt. As monuments they deserve attention, be- ing remarkable for their life-look and inimitable char- acterization, — particularly that of the grim old bishop lying on the pavement, also that of Leonardo Buona- fede, who in spite of his ugliness we know was a very genial old man. From Certosa we proceeded to Bel- losguardo, the Monte Beni of Hawthorne's "Marble Faun," and where most of the romance was written. The views from the summit of the hill beggar de- scription ; — " we found it hard Gazing upon the earth and heavens, to make A choice of beauty." XXIX. FLORENCE TO VENICE. From Florence to Pistoia we had the radiant pic- tnresqueness of the Tuscan hills, and waysides of rus- tic field life, women in broad-brimmed hats at the rudest work, and young girls bearing on their heads bundles of grass bright with intermingled blossoms. Occasionally we caught glimpses of habitations bur- rowed out of the relics of a by-gone life — some ruin with remnants of battlements and machicolations, the doorways hung round with ears of corn and vines. Ascending from Pistoia, the road pierces the Ap- ennines by a series of tunnels, rushes past beds of boulders, and along high bastions, — crossing the gorges by trellises and airy bridges, and finally de- scends to wooded slopes, a pleasant valley, and Bo- logna. The mountain barrier that separates southern from northern Italy once passed, the traveller recog- nizes that he has bid adieu to the land of olives, or- anges, and cypress trees. FLORENCE TO VENICE. 335 To journey by rail from Bologna, through Mo- dena, Parma, and Piacenza, to Milan, occupies about five hours. So luxuriant and so beautiful is the coun- try, it may well be called, " II giardina del mondo.' The meadows, cut by small streamlets, are of rare shapes, dotted with clumps of shrubbery enveloped in net-works of vines, while here and there long lines of trees regularly set out stretch across the levels, wreathed, garlanded and crowned, looking like bands of fairies starting forth for a revel ; and the color over all, as we saw it, was azure just warming into gold. At Lodi, near Piacenza, we were reminded of the cap- ture of the Bridge of Lodi by Napoleon and Berthier, it being defended by seven thousand Austrian s. We reached Milan on the evening of a Festa, when all the streets were gay; and the Galleria Vittorio Emanuel was brilliant with thousands of gaslights, and throngs of people in holiday attire. The glass dome looked like an arch of concentrated light — a rounded mount of crystallized gorgeousness. Later in the evening as we stumbled into by-ways and over rough pavements to our hotel, we wondered why the Milanese did not improve the opportunity afforded them when Frederic Barbarossa destroyed every house in the city, and rebuild with some fair show of design in " lay-out," and a little regard for foot-travellers in the make-up of streets. 336 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Nowhere in Italy does modernness tread so ruth- lessly upon the past as in Milan. Everybody is busy, and with an earnestness that might do credit to a New England town. In the old Loggia where theolo- gians used to dispute, sit the Councils of the Cham- ber of Commerce, and the once comparatively quiet Piazza dei Mercanti has become the noisiest of Ex- changes. In the shops of the Arcades, perhaps as fine as any in the world, one finds every conceivable arti- cle of use, and of ornament. Shopping in Milan is not the dreaded thing it is elsewhere, but an agree- able pastime, for one need not traverse streets, or be exposed to wind and weather, having once been set down at the Arcades. The Cathedral of Milan is one of the glories of It- aly, say the critics what they may. It is a splendid and impressive embodiment of her faith in herself, her courage and her patience. Tier by tier, it lifts in solemn grandeur, its mysteries of gray and dazzle of whiteness, its sustained massiveness of entirety and fairy-like lightness of detail. From sculptured base to gilded cross, it is pillared, bestatued and pinnacled ; the stories of saints, kings and heroes, are written in wonderful lines, fine forms, and miracles of carv- ing. In the early morning we walked around it, gazing with ever-increasing admiration, and after- ward we climbed to the roof. Here, Art seems to FLORENCE TO VENICE. 337 have poured out in creative profusion the accumu- lated burden of centuries of silent thought; we see crystallized in marble fruit and flowers, arches and minarets, and the noble forms of those who were once powers upon the earth, — each a new revelation, beau- tiful, grand, and complete. But from the platform of the cupola, what a view! The Lombardy plains full of battle-fields, the level of lovely vegetation dotted with white walls and spires like an emerald sea stud- ded with sails; and across, the Alps, with the dark forms of their great passes, and their everlasting snows, Mont Blanc shining aloft. Entering by the grand portal later in the day, but while the sun was yet above the horizon, we strolled toward the great stained windows of the east. As we approached the huge choir mass, the sun, streaming in through a rose window over the portal, • touched the gilded crucifix suspended from the vaulted ceiling; it became warm molten gold, and the sentiment of that greatest of tragedies seemed resting over all, illuminating with its consummated glories the dim solitude of aisles, chapels and altars. Sitting on the steps of the choir, we watched the purple and crimson, the amber, amethyst and gold, fade out of the window, and felt the great solemn stillness, with its tremulous questions and meanings, gather about and enfold us. The first wave of emo- 338 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. tion having past, I turned to my companions, but they had averted their faces. We went back, down the vast aisle, through the gathering darkness, and out into the Square, carrying with us something of Milan Cathedral that will not fade. The exhibition of the mummified relics of St. Charles Borromeo, which we witnessed at another time, is grotesquely at variance with the good bishop's senti- ments while on earth. We had just seen his Missal with the motto "Humilitas" among the treasures of the Biblioteca Ambrosiana. The chapel dedicated to him is a small octagonal apartment in the Crypt of the church; the walls in the inside are massive silver bas-reliefs; the eight angles are occupied by caryatides; and above the altar there is a cross of emeralds and diamonds, the gift of Maria Theresa of Austria. The sacristan, by means of a crank, re- moves the bronze lid of the shrine, revealing the shrivelled form of the saint, arrayed in episcopal robes, with mitre and gold staff, lying within a coffin of plate glass. On the coffin is the cipher of Philip IV. of Spain, the donor. The gold crown was pre- sented by the Elector of Bavaria, and is of wonderful workmanship, being wrought by none other than that master goldsmith, Benvenuto Cellini. Nothing can be more gorgeous, considered as a blaze of jewellery, than the glowing, twinkling splendor of FLORENCE TO VENICE. 339 rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires, laid as votive offerings upon the shrine of one who all his life preached humility. The sacristan receives five francs for the exhibitory performance. Viewed in the light of Romanism, the end justifies the means, the patron saint is kept in mind and a goodly rev- enue obtained for immediate church needs. A chain of beautiful and historic cities connects Milan with Venice; Bergamo, Verona, Vicenza, and Padua. At Verona we parted with some agreeable English people whose companionship had added to the interest of the last few days. The memory of Milan and its Cathedral will always recall the intel- ligent and congenial elders, and we shall not be liable to forget the face of the beautiful daughter. We continued our seaward pathway to the spell- bound city of the Adriatic, but at Mestre there was a long stop; they say there always is. Once again en route precursive curiosity was alert for a first glimpse of lagoon or spire. Already the shadows were lengthening, but across soft glowing distances, we soon saw a liquid level out of which rose white towers and gilded domes. The train rumbled over the great bridge, or marble causeway, two miles in length, and into the station. "Barca, signore ! Barca, signora ! " Yes, we will have a barca ; it will do better than a cab in a city where the streets are 340 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. canals. It took a long time to identify, and get luggage through the hands of Custom -House officials, so that it was quite dark when we entered the many- seated gondola, and were pushed away from the noise and bustle of the station out into the broad waters of the Grand Canal. We were a mixed com- pany, French, Germans, Italians and Americans, but there was little talking. Was it anxiety or home- sickness, or a little of both that so tangled my per- ceptions that I was speechless ? On and on we glided, down the dark waterway walled in by tall palaces, the minutes seeming to grow longer and the darkness blacker, the silence broken only by dipping oars, and the peculiar cry of the gondolier, " stall preme" or "seiar" as the case might be. Occa- sionally a lamp threw a crimson flame into the water, and we could see in the glimmering duskiness all sorts of fantastic things. At last we touched at a broad stairway between two great lamps, and by an obliging porter were admitted to our hotel. Later we stepped out upon the balcony of our apartments; listened to the sound of bells coming from oyer the lagoons; descried in the distance white sails looking like white-robed sentinels. A gondola passed below, lighted by a " star " and a silyer gleam at the dip of the oar, and low and sweet was the song of those within. All was strangely noyel and bewildering; a FLORENCE TO VENICE. 341 deep sense of the mysterious and peerless beauty of Venice took possession of us, a fascination that once having seized one never releases its hold. Morning revealed that directly opposite us, across the Grand Canal, was the church of Maria della Salute, and beyond a broader stretch of water; at our left, San Giorgio Maggiore, — one of the most conspicuous objects, we afterward learned, in all dis- tant views of the city. J. J. Jarvis begins a book with what he saw in Maria della Salute, so we ventured to begin there a day of sight seeing. To tourists the church is a definitely remembered struct- ure, because of its prominent position (over-looking as it does the finest breadth of the Grand Canal), the picturesque effect of its massive dome and two bell-towers which group so well with its stately and untortured grace, and the royally generous breadth of marble frontage and stairway by which it is ap- proached. Our gondola had but touched the steps, when a crab-catcher, the fellow who holds fast (or loose) your gondola, presented himself. Certainly the native Venetian has still an eye for color; this unmitigated scamp was as picturesque as possible; a tattered red cap pulled down close to a pair of magnificent eyes, nether garments lacking element- ary coherence, but brave in variety of hues, and pedal extremities encased in pointed, green morocco 342 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. buskins, all harmonized by the rich bronze of his complexion and a sort of inspiration of grace and impishness that seemed to entirely possess him. But our purpose was to see the church; within, it is not particularly fine. There are some pillars brought from the amphitheatre of Polo, and a great silver lamp given by the city in memory of the Madonna's goodness during the cholera visitation of 1849. The noted marble group of the high altar, seemed to us too theatrical to be either beautiful or interesting. On the ceiling of the sacristy is Titian's Death of Abel, and on the wall is Tintoretto's Mar- riage in Cana. Both are ill placed for light, and are far above the spectator; only those willing to sacrifice personal comfort for the purpose, can obtain sufficient knowledge of them to have any idea of their respective merits. Returning to our gondola, we drifted down, past the Custom-House, out of the broad opening of the canal 7 and along a silver-gray line of riva till we reached the great white marble landing of the Piazzetta. The en- trance to the Piazzetta is guarded by two granite col- umns, one surmounted by the Lion of St. Mark, and the other bv a statue of St, Theodore. St. Mark's leonine representative is blind, its eyes having disappeared. Venetians say, it wept its eyes out during the Aus- trian rule. The real fact is, I believe, that the eves, FLORENCE TO VENICE. 343 being fine agates, were picked out by Napoleon's soldiers, at the time the lion was carried to Paris with the bronze horses of St. Mark. Our object in coming to the Piazzetta was the view from the top of the Campanile. The ascent is easy, being made by a series of inclined planes, up which, possibly, one might "ride a horse," if he chose. Arrived at the top and stepping out upon the platform, we felt ourselves unstable, as if poised in air, with bewil- dering, unfathomable depths of blue above, and un- fathomable depths of gray below. The level of per- ceptive faculties being restored, we saw, distinctly outlined, eighty islands with their campos, piled-up palaces, and gilded domes, the steely shine of the length of the reversed "S" sweep of the Grand Canal, spanned by the Rialto, and two modern bridges, and the long glittering railway crossing, by which the city comrades with the mainland. To the right, over the cemetery island of San Michele, between low cloud pennons, shone the Campanile of Murano, be- yond rose the clustered purple Arquan hills, while the horizon was bounded by the irregular blue of distant mountain ranges, tipped with light or snow. In the foreground of the busy, bustling Pdva dei Schi- avona gondolas* and flats covered with bright awn- ings flitted to and fro; along the quays of the Guidecca were moored rafts loaded with wood from 344 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Dalmatia; and lighter barks, dipping their w.hite wings before a breeze, followed, coming and going, the dark line of pile-heads that marks their proper course. Off the Public Gardens were anchored larger crafts, merchantmen and a ship of war, flying the colors of many nations. From one, the war-ship, floated the stars and stripes — the red, white and blue dear to American hearts; we — the gentlemen — in- stinctively took off hats; and there above the old Venetian lion hailed the Columbia of our newer, live Republic. Now the waters seemed to rise; and through the three great portals, Lido, Tre Ponti and Malamocco, came that mightiest of wonders, one that awes all who look upon it, — the flood-tide of the Adriatic. Encircling waters, the fitly-chosen mirror of Yen- ice, reflect all her charms, her forms and hues, her regal grace and state. Sculptured palaces look down upon their shadows, the gondolier with his oar bends toward his mate, and statued columns and white pin- nacles nod to those below. The surface of the mir- ror-like water trembles with every change of light; one moment it is broken by rippling rainbow glory, the next by streams of flame plunged into its depths, and now by the sparkling, splashing^ keels of fisher- men's boats. Take crimson and sapphire, rose and sea-green, purple and pearl-grays, mix with the flat- FLORENCE TO VENICE. 345 tery of a golden atmosphere and a final triumph of sunset over all, and you will have the real Venetian color; at least, so we thought on the first morning we spent in the Academy. There we found Titians, Veroneses, Tintorettos, Palma Vecchios and Bonifazios. A picture by Bonifazio, Lazarus and the Kich Man, seemed to us quite as rich and intense in color as any of Titian's. Everything — architecture, appoint- ments of furniture and table, stuffs of costumes and paraphernalia — is as luxurious as possible; and in individual characterization, and the work-out of the tout-ensemble, there is audacious frankness, for one perceives at once that the " poor man " is a pretext rather than a cause or inspiration. Titian's early sunstruck groups are less plentiful in Venice than elsewhere; later, he was designated as the "Master who in Art kept the middle path of perfection." One of his most interesting works, The Assumption, is in the Academy. In the foreground is a group of apostles looking upward to the central figure, the Virgin, who, surrounded by angelic children, is borne up by clouds heavenward. Within the radiance of the opening heavens, is seen a crown held by an archangel, and within a further, deeper, more gold- en radiance the Father. From earth to heaven the whole movement is melodic, a grand chorus of light, color, and conscious joy. 346 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. If Titian was the ik Master of Venetian painting,'' what would Vasari call Veronese, ^vitli his full bloom; dark arabesques revealed by gold back- grounds, balustrades, and arches through which one sees blue sky, and the opaline hues of clear water, and serene, grand figures that belong to su- perior races, the heads of sovereignties ! His Mar- riage of Can a and Supper in a Rich Man's House, both in the Academy, have these qualities, with added firmness of execution and that equable tran- quil harmony that runs through all his works. Tintoretto, the other great light of the so-called Venetian school can be known only in Venice, for his principal works are there. He deals with the splendor of quantity as did Michael Angelo, some of his canvases measuring seventy feet. Having seen his St. Mark Delivering a Slave from Impend- ing Death, one no longer wonders that by his con- temporaries he was called The Thunderbolt. It is more than Michael Angelesque in accessories of grand architecture, feats of foreshortening, and electric suddenness and fury of motion. The saint is in the act of descending head foremost from the sky; the slave, a superb figure, throbs with excess of life; dumb amazement strikes him and the spectators when they behold the axe shivered in the hands of the executioner. In the multitude of figures, FLORENCE TO VENICE. 347 their costumes, poses, and expressions, he has dis- tributed those luminous half- shadows, or semi- opaquenesses, and brilliant dashes of color and action, by which he is, according to his theme, either tempestuous and tragic, or poetic and de- licious. XXX. ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. One may walk if he cannot drive in Venice ; so we walked through a street not more than eight feet broad, crossed the San Moise bridge, and, with a motley crowd bound our way, reached that opening into light known as the Bocca di Piazza. Into the Piazza poured streams of sunshine, flooding its level of checkered stones, and making them look like gems set in gold. Before us stretched the sculptured and arcaded lines of the Procuratie, sumptuous palaces above, and below brilliant shops and cafes. Beyond, at the further side, rising out of a sea of stone, glittered the clustered pinnacles and great white domes of St. Mark's; its splendors of Oriental forms enriched with innumerable graftings from Saracenic, Roman, and Gothic, and a scintillating embroidery of hues of azure, porphyry, and jasper. Out of these, from a field shot with stars, looks the Winged Lion, erect and alert. On brackets over the central portal st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 349 stand the four bronze horses, — celebrated travellers. Augustus brought them to Rome, whence they were carried by Constantine to Constantinople. With Doge Dandolo they came to Venice about 1207. Afterward, on insistence, they accompanied Napo- leon I. to Paris, returning to Venice in 1815, and were given their former position on the facade of St. Mark's. Tradition says they are the work of Lysippus, and that they belonged originally to a group of equestrian statues of Macedonian chief- tains, who fell at Granicus. The interior of St. Mark's wins the heart at once; it appeals profoundly to the religious sentiment in the unmaterialized element of shadows, the cheer of occasional gleams of gold and fragments of pre- cious marble, like rays of hope, and the intensified effects of symbols acting as interpreters of the spirit- ual. There is a felt tenderness, a sort of friendly welcome in the low-hovering arches, gold starred domes and frescos of angelic groups, as if they would minister to the soul distressed; bring down to it the sweet peace of sins forgiven, or soothe with their twilight, softly descending and enfold- ing, the sorrows that irritate and oppress. Light from without enters through small apertures in cupolas, and through stained-glass windows, all so far away and above, that rays come wandering 350 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. down into darkness like cloudlets of spray, or straying streamlets from mountain cascades. Can- dles and great silver lamps are kept burning, and these add a ghostly gleaming of flames to the dim daylight. The pavement, worn by the feet of pen- itent and priest, is of marble mosaics, in which lions and peacocks figure largely; it is as beauti- ful in hues as in designs. All discords in St. Mark's, whether of forms, dec- orations or tints, are harmonized in a prevailing tone, which at the first glance is purple, then seems to separate into interlaced red and gold. Domes are overspread with gold as backgrounds of innumerable mosaics, and shafts of columns, walls and pavement are. made of colored marbles, the red- veined pre- dominating. Language is inadequate to express the luxuriousness of materials, sculptures and jew- els, seen everywhere, but particularly that on al- tars; it is, however, an opulence that is not pro- longed into ostentation; it becomes rather a solemn preciousness and splendor, like that of the Pala d' Oro. A procession entered from the door of the Bap tistery; its intent was unintelligible to us, but no* the beauty of it as a spectacle. Gleams of sunlight from distant casements were caught by banner, gold mitre, or damask cope, and their dazzle borne on- st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 351 ward as the line of priests, acolytes and followers wound around among marble pillars, to the gemmed and torch-lighted splendors of the High Altar. A chant low and monotonous was heard, but whence it came none could discover. Quite impossible is it to transfer to paper any- thing that will represent the smallest substance of the Ducal Palace, and how much more impossible to represent anything of its spirit. Its history is the history of the Republic, its ducal dignities and imperial power. In architecture it is unique, over- leaping all conventional rules, Greek, Latin, or By- zantine. Nowhere have we seen its like in illi not- ability of invention, surprising richness of detail, and entirety of completion. There are two open colonnades, one resting upon the other; the ground one appears low and stumpy in consequence of the raising of the Piazza pavement. The second, lighter and much decorated, supports the walls of red and white marble intermixed, broken into irregularity by beautiful pointed windows, and surmounted by a cornice of net-work of foilings, pinnacles and spiracles. From the Piazza one enters by the Porta della Carta, the Paper Gate, so-named because in the vestibule within, the secretaries performed their functions. In the court are two famous well-heads, 352 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. five feet in diameter and nearly as high, of most charming designs and elegantly wrought; they are of bronze and beneath are the cisterns of the pal- ace. The four facades facing the court glow with the large, free, rich treatment of the early Renais- sance, its bold reliefs, poetic arabesques and Hel- lenic statues. The moment of ascending, for the first time, the grand staircase of the Ducal Palace, must be a consciously marked era in one's life ; they are Rizzo's princely steps built for trains starred with pearls, embroidered dalmatics, the glitter of tiaras, and all the gorgeous and ceremonial pomps of state. At the top the Doges w r ere crowned, the mantle of ermine was put upon their shoulders, and the statutes by which they laid aside their individu- ality to become symbolical embodiments of the Re- public, were read to them. Half-way up we learned that it was an older stairway down which rolled the head of Marino Faliero ; we were quite willing to be- lieve it, and for the time tu forget both the tradi- tion of his execution on the spot, and Byron's trag- edy founded on the event. On either side, at the head of the staircase, are Sansovino's Mars and Neptune, colossal and imposing in their position; and beyond, open halls decorated by Sansovino and Giovanni Bellini. * AVithin the Palace, genius has centered all her ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 353 energies to memorialize the city's triumphs and her independence, and make a representative apothe- osis of her power, wealth and magnificence. A*s- cending a second staircase, we come to a suite of halls, the very names of which are a chapter in history — the Ante Chamber of the Council of Ten, with the famous Bocca di Leone "through which secret accusations were handed to the Council," the Hall of Ambassadors, the Senate Hall, and the Chamber of the dreaded Council of Ten, the walls and sculpture ornaments by Palladio, Sansovino, and Vittoria, and the masterly frescos by Bonifazio, Pordenone, Veronese and Tintoretto. Near is the ascent leading to Prisons under the Leads, cells upon which "beat the sun unrelentingly, scorch- ing the brain till Reason fled, and the wild yell and wilder laugh burst on every side," — so wrote one imprisoned there in 1755. The Wells, the most dread prisons, and where political offenders were us- ually confined, are reached by a dark stairway near the Giant's Staircase. They are on the Rio side of the Palace and look oat upon it, not being be- neath the water-level as so frequently asserted; this information we took second-handed, having no desire to " put our feet upon the spot, our hands upon the guilty doors." We were content to see the famous Bridge of Sighs, which connects the Ducal Palace 35 1 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. with the Criminal Prisons on the other side of the Rio Canal from the distance of our gondola. The Bridge was not built till the last of the sixteenth century, consequently cannot well be associated with romantic episodes of earlier dates. It is pronounced by distinguished authority a sentimental fraud, of which there are several in Venice as well as else- Avhere. Common criminals are the only pathetic figures that impart interest to it. Italians pity all knaves as soon as they are caught, hence the name of the Bridge. On the second floor of the Ducal Palace is the Library founded by a bequest from Petrarch. Its most munificent benefactor, however, was one Bes- sarion, though its greatest single treasure was the gift of a Grimani, viz., the Grimani Breviary, said to be the finest illuminated work known. The minia- tures were painted by Vander Meer, Mending, Da Messina and De Grand. From the Library anteroom one enters the Great Council Hall, the grand histori- cal apartment of the Palace. The walls are covered with pictures illustrating different phases of Venetian history, and above these, at the top, chronologically arranged, are the portraits of her seventy-two \^Oi, the space that should have been occupied by that of Marino Faliero being hung with a black curtain on which is the inscription, " Hie est Joeus Marxni Falethn st. mark's, the ducal palace, and toroello. 355 decapitati pro criminibu8. n Of the ceiling decorations, Paul Veronese's Triumph of Venice is a feast for the eye; diversified with every creative facility and il- luminated with Venetian sunshine. The Bride of the Sea has yellow hair, bound in a knot at the back, a silken mantle falls from her shoulders, and from beneath it spreads out the satiny sheen of her ample robe. Haughty, yet gentle, in her radiant beauty she sits enthroned — Glory in the act of placing a crown upon her head — an acknowledged sovereign to whom Tritons offer pearls, and at whose feet wait Justice and Peace. Around her is a circle of other figures with draperies of floating gauze, and shim- mering, star-dotted silks; against hues of pale violet, azure and gold, presses the delicate rosiness of flesh, now in sunshine and now in shadow, all upborne on a mass of clouds. Just below the centre of the pic- ture is another group, a balustrade filled with Vene- tians of the actual times, clad in corresponding-time costumes of all that was splendid in material, — tissues of gold and of silver, brocades and velvets, the diaph- anous glitter of necklaces and armlets, and the real Venetian color, mother of pearl slashed with flames of sunset. Beneath, and in the foreground, is a third group, a restless crowd, women and children, hounds in the leash, captive Turks, the Lion of St. Mark, soldiers and prancing horses. The architecture, bal- 356 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. conies and columns, is superb, according with the right of opulence and power; through its openings are seen great spaces of sea and sky, glowing with superabundant sunlight. On the wall back of the Ducal throne is Tinto- retto's Paradise, eighty feet long and twenty feet broad, with six hundred figures. The work is ex- ecuted in a positive and realistic manner, con- sidering the artist's poetic tendencies, and that the theme has a truly spiritual significance. When other Italian cities succumbed to the power of religious ex- citements, Venice maintained her equilibrium, keep- ing the church always under the control of the body politic, her ceremonies being regarded as only a part of the State's pomps and pageantries, thus, it is not so surprising to find Tintoretto's Paradise an adjunct of masked balls, and State ceremonials. The artist's characteristic energy of conception and distinctness of vision that instantly seized individual details and peculiar possibilities of situations, are apparent even in this vast stretch of surface, as is also his prefer- ence for the dramatic and tragic. Transgressors fly before the angel as before a tempest, although he is clothed with light and does not touch the ground. He casts a shadow toward Adam and Eve, a detail embodying a thought both poetic and prophetic. Mary, above, stretches out her arms to her Son, and ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 357 points to the crowd below. Tn the distance is seen a procession on which falls a great shining. Coming out into the Piazzetta, glancing across the shimmering lagoons, along the sunny lengths of the Riva, and beyond to the azure line of sky dropping to the Lido, we remembered that it was there, from between the two great pillars, that the Doges em- barked for the ceremony of wedding the Sea. It was a gorgeous procession, led by standard bearers, her- alds and trumpeters: following came ambassadors with their attendants, the Canons and Patriarchs of St. Mark's, secretaries and chaplains; the Insignia of the State, the silver candelabra, ducal coronet, and chair covered with gold cloth were borne by squires before the Grand Chancellor; and finally appeared the Serene Prince, the Doge, the ombrella carried over his head. During the embarkation, bells rang, trumpets sounded, and guns boomed. The Bucentaur, magni- ficent with decorations of gold and arras, the stand- ards floating at her bow, glided slowly away, over the lagoons, "steered by the high admiral." Official gondolas followed, and behind them came all Ven- ice afloat. Passing the point of the Lido, the Bu- centaur faced the fair open Adriatic; bands played, the forts thundered salvos, the bell-towers of Venice and the islands near, all joined in with their brazen tongues, the people rose and bared their heads. The 358 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. Patriarch of Venice standing beside the Doge blessed the wedding ring, — onyx, malachite and lapis-lazuli set in gold, — and gave it to the Doge; an attendant priest poured holy water into the sea, and into the ripples the Doge dropped the ring, saying, "Sea, we espouse thee, in sign of true and everlasting dominion." The festivities ended with banquets and a ball at the Ducal Palace. From the banquet of the workmen of the Arsenal every man was at liberty to carry away whatever had served him at table, drinking cup, nap- kin, knife and fork, and the like. Crossing the Piazza our attention* was attracted to a picturesque group at the well on the north side of St. Mark. This well may be exempt from the usual municipal restraints, for we have never seen it closed. Our group consisted of a youth leaning upon his bucket poised on the edge of the stone curb, chatting with a young woman who was so interested that she had thrown her kettles and yoke upon the pavement. A 'second young woman stood by, her kettles al- ready filled, for her yoke was adjusted to her shoul- ders, the ends balancing perfectly, and in her hand she held her little coil of rope; she was ready to de- part, but was held back by the desire to keep the other company. Both were handsome, but evidently of different conditions, for one wore the white head- gear with the fold hanging down the back, and a st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 359 large white apron, while the other had about her a fringed shawl, and her magnificent hair was held up by silver darts. We had already seen gather- ings at other wells, — those of the early morning be- fore the wells were unlocked, but none that were so beautiful as our trio-group. Near by, the Clock Tower, gleaming with blue and gold, sent out its bronze Vulcans to strike the hour, and we repaired to the sort of triumphal arch that forms the support of the tower, whence opens one of the principal streets of shops, the Merceria. Here we found Venetian gold-work and mosaics, lace and rings, and so-called antiquities, fans, armlets and a soltana such as the Venetian women of the sixteenth century wore while bleaching their hair, — and above all, and loveliest of all, a variety of Salviati's glass, most exquisite in design and wonderful in color. Of photographs there was no end, and there are none so beautiful as those seen in Venice, either in quality of print or in the matter of subjects, the latter being generally Venetian waterways reflecting all objects, animated life of the rivas, picturesque barks and gondolas, and the noblest architecture in the world. On our homeward way we stopped at Santa Maria Formosa, to take a look, for perhaps the twentieth time, at Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara, a superb creature for saint or woman. It is claimed to be a 360 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. portrait of his daughter, the beloved of Titian. Oiu gondola was left below, on the other side of the canal that we might cross Ponte del Paradiso, and see its entrance canopy, the most exquisite bit of architec- ture in Venice. One must visit the suburbs if he would understand the city; in this way Venice is incomplete without Torcello. There shines, in all its effective, pictorial intensity, that peculiar light in whose heavenly ex- cess of radiance Venetian painters sought their tints. We embarked from the Fondamenta Nuova on one of the finest days of the finest month in the year, to row far away over the northern lagoons to the ancient mistress of Venetia. At one moment our gondola seemed to glide among clouds, the next to be set between piled-up emerald banks, then to en- counter waves leaping to kiss the heavens, and again the heavens coming down to embrace the earth. Torcello is fitly called " the old, worn-out mother of Venice ; " we found her stranded on a low sand- bar, a skeleton bleaching in flood and sunlight. She was begotten in the troubled times of history by refugees. Attila invaded Altinum driving thence many of the inhabitants. Two hundred years later, another invasion left it deserted; a small band whc ascended the city tower, " beheld a vision of boats, ships and islands," and taking this as their leading, ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 361 directed their course seaward, and took possession of the island of Torcello. Now there are a few gardener's and fishermen's huts, a curious old cathe- dral, and alongside, leading down to the water's edge, delicious grassy spaces, such as are seen only in Italy. Since the town was never invaded, at least not till later years, and then only by debris and m alana, it is hard to tell why a stone arm-chair in front of the cathedral is called " Attila's Throne." A lofty campanile commands fine. sea- views, and from it, probably, the inhabitants used to watch for the advance of Vandals who never came. The cathedral and other structures are low, as if they wished not to attract the eye of enemies to their refuge. Its exterior is devoid of ornament except the portals, but the interior has some tender attempts at beauty, mystical mosaics, marble pulpit and choir-screen, and Corinthian columns with finely wrought capitals, which one may reach with the hand, so low is the roof they support. A delicious stillness filled th little campo, not that of simple quiet or melancholy, but an inarticulate gladness of unclouded weather, occasionally interrupted by a slight tremor in the air, and the clamor of children. The children, some tumbling, others scampering, over the soft grass, had the gift which Nature seldom denies their race. They were the most brilliantly beautiful little mor- 362 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. tals imaginable; shapes of perfect grace, with eyes of liquid light and color inherited from sun and sea. Correggio must have come here for his models, for they might have been taken for cherubs stolen out of his pictures. Keturning in the late afternoon we met gondolas with black flags, carrying the dead to San Michele, the bearers wore scarlet robes. Cries of a sea-gull rose out of the waste of distant waters, and there was a beating of wings, but the sphere of our im- pressions had no place for either despondency or forebodings. The dead should sleep well at San Michele in the shadow of the church, with the sea singing its eternal lullaby. "The sea is His and He made it ; " and beyond was the dry land, and the city all aglow in the western sunlight. XXXI. THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. Venetian palaces are magnificent in size, with delicately sculptured marble fronts, regularity broken by differing heights of stories and open loggie, and have a sameness of internal arrangement of broad halls, spacious stairways, and suites of rooms open- ing on either side. Their outward forms, and the conditions of their sea- worn footing, are as expressive of domiciliary security and haughty inaccessibility, as in the proud days of the old aristocratic Eepublic, but the luxury of their appointments, splendor of service, and brilliant state assemblages have dis- appeared with the opulence of which they were the product. The facade architecture of the elegant, graceful structures overlooking the Grand Ganal is best seen from a gondola, the walls rising sheer from the water's edge. Leaving the lagoons one glides past the Dario, its front inlaid with circular 364 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. disks of many colored marbles, and the Contarini Fasan with fine columned balconies supported by superbly sculptured corbels; it is pointed out by gondoliers as the house of Desdemona. Afterward appears the beautiful Lombard Manzoni, and Corner Ca Grande of the Conaro family, with the lovely courtyard that has served as a model in so many pictures. Then we have the Cavalli, the Rezzonica, belonging to the Infante of Spain, and the Contarini Serigni, the great wealth of the Contarini being in- dicated by serigni, which means " money chests." At the terminus of the first reach of the Canal is a noted group of palaces, the Foscari, and two Giustiniani. The first recalls the touching story of Doge Foscari and his son Giacopo. Here the widow of the Doge surrendered his remains to Venice for "sumptuous obsequies," repentance and remorse for the causes of his death having overtaken the State. The Foscari added a story to their palace after it came into their possession, thus it is the largest of the three; all have pointed water-gates, delicate Gothic windows, and fine spacious balconies. One of the Giustiniani was grand enough to lodge a king in 1574, Henry III. of France. These palaces, occupying the angle or turning point of the Canal, command the longest and clearest vistas each way, one reaching to the lagoons and the other beyond THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 365 the Rialto. It was here that the Republic enter- tained foreign princes when the Grand Canal was the scene of State festivities and ceremonies. From a Giustiniani balcony one of our party witnessed the ceremonies of a happy day in modern Venetian history, when Victor Emanuel took possession of the city, and later, in 1868, the return of Daniel Manin from Exile, his remains being delivered to his countrymen from the Bucentaur at the steps of the Ducal Palace. Turning into a side canal where handsome palaces, lovely carven water-gate heads, and a sea-deep still- ness challenged surprise, a few strokes and long intervals, skillfully managed by our clever gondolier, finally brought us to the church of the Fran. It is a Gothic structure with interluding Eenaissant orna- mentation, of seeming magnificent dimensions, and having ceiling vaults covered with particularly beau- tiful groining. It is famous as the burial place of many illustrious persons, and for the grandeur of several of its mortuary monuments, which are piled one above the other, till some hang high over the heads of worshippers. In the foreground of the nave, on either side, are the tombs that most inter- ested us, — that of Titian, near which rests all of him that was mortal, erected by the Emperor of Austria, and opposite, Canova's, said to have been designed 366 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. by himself" but executed by his pupils. We are sorry to consider it representative, and cannot believe the inscription originated with the artist. The cost of it was shared by England, France, Germany, Italy; and America had a small hand in the matter. It is the face of a great white marble pyramid, with an open door toward which advance Atlas and Eudora; near are two genii, one with an extinguished torch who sleeps, while the other laments, — the signifi- cance of the winged lion, his paw resting on a book, we could not comprehend. Titian's monument is a sort of portico, within which sits the painter sur- rounded by allegorical statues and reliefs taken from his works, yet in marble expressing little of their real beauty or purpose. In these monuments one feels the inexorable limitations of Art, the finite attempting to deal with ideas that touch the borders of the infinite. It would seem as if something origi- nal and pertinent might have been said; but they are simply curious symbolical compositions, the one cold, pretentious and far-fetched, the other polished and bedecked, but, like the former, barren of all individ- ual thought or feeling beyond the common level of life. From a porch in the rear of the Frari one reaches the campiello and School of San Kocco, the latter not an educational establishment, but the house of THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 367 a Venetian "Temporal Work of Mercy." Here, on the walls, Tintoretto worked for eighteen years. Of his large pictures the most remarkable are The An- nunciation, The Adoration of the Magi, The Mas- sacre of the Innocents, The Baptism in Jordan, and a portrait of himself at the age of sixty-six. In the Baptism there is an added tone of intensity, fertility of imagination, and vision of prophecy, that is start- ling; one feels that he has reached the utmost limit of Art. In the Sala dell' Albergo is Tintoretto's most celebrated work, The Crucifixion, covering a wall forty feet long and proportionably high. There are several scenes beside the principal and central, Christ on the Cross, at the moment of His "Eloi, Eloi, lama, sabachthani" cry, which sustain the im- pressive, tragic harmony of the whole with their crowding incidents, variety of forms and tints, and broad lights and shadows. There are groups of wo- men, some weeping, others, swooning, executioners with the light falling across swollen veins and mus- cular tendons, and their implements, axes, wedges, and ladders. The separate groups of the two thieves are corresponding notes in the theme, as are also the accessories of indifferent spectators, cavaliers, horses in rich trappings, priests, crossbowmen, and grave-diggers. There are in all eighty figures put in movement at the base of a mountain, the summit 368 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. touching a chasm of light, and against a gloomy, earthquake-darkening sky. One's interest grows into excitement while he looks, and he goes away sorrow- ful and bewildered. These marvels of the mightiest of Venetian masters are dimmed and stained with seams and damp and blackness; soon they will be but phantoms, telling us even less than they do now what manner of man he was. Again afloat on the Grand Canal, there were in- numerable palaces of illustrious memories, and fine architectural appointments, facades with porphyry medallions and Greek pillars, Gothic windows, and Byzantine borders. Before each door white marble steps lead down to the water, and great wooden posts painted with various colors, standing like senti- nels, serve as moorings for family gondolas. Through archways came snatches of songs, and the voices of children, while now and then we caught glimpses of vines and blossoms peeping over a garden terrace. Soon we descried the splendid span of the Eialto with its clothing and jeweller's shops. Eialto is a contraction of Rivo alto, meaning the other side of the river, and was the only bridge crossing . the Grand Canal till within comparatively a few years. "In the Eialto you have rated me About my moneys," THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 369 refers to the quarter and not the bridge. In the days of the Eepublic the neighborhood was the center of mercantile life, the fine palace, the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, being the meeting-place of German mer- chants, who through Venice trafficked with the Levant, and the other, the Fondaco dei Turchi, was the place of commerce with Musselmen, the focus of Oriental life and praises of Allah in Venice. The Market Place near the Rialto abounded in splendid hues and unusual picturesqueness. Shops were in tasteful expectant readiness, and none were more attractive in fanciful arrangements of forms and variety of color than the fruit and vegetable stalls. Distributed among them were models for al- tar-pieces, — young women carrying beautiful infants, — St. Joseph repairing a disabled stand, St. Johns buying limes and oranges, and several St. Peters bargaining for fish; if one might judge from the noise and confusion, trade was brisk. Gobbo with his column looked on quietly, wondering perhaps what had become of the statutes that used to burden his back during their reading. At the little wharf were boats that had brought vegetables from Maz- zorba, and lace-makers with their goods from Bu- rano; also fishing crafts with their painted sails from Chioggia, the sailors strong in speech and full of energy. On the stone edge of the wharf lay a small 370 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. mite of a fellow fast asleep: as he was a rosy, curly- headed blonde, beautiful as if just out of Eden, we fancied he belonged to one of the Chioggote boats, and gently rolled him into the nearest, over which he was already impending. If it was not his place, he dreamed there more safely than on the water's brink. Among the many pilgrimages that we made in Venice, not the least interesting was that to St. Maria di Scalzi, the resting-place of the last Doge of Venice, Ludovico Manirij who died of a broken heart, falling down while taking the oath to Austria. "Manin Cineres " is the simple epitaph on his tomb. Winding through the narrow, crooked, and dirty canals of the Ghetto quarter, we came at last into cleaner waters, purer air, and a pleasant breadth of sunshine in the grassy little campo of Santa Maria dell Orto. The interior of the church is very lovely, seems to have been dreamed out of reverent love and faith. The marble shafts, the sculptures, and the traceries of transoms, are exquisite ; in the front are two Gothic windows of incomparable beauty and richness. The sacristan pointed out the tomb of Tintoretto ; we were obliged to accept his authority, since the name on the slab was anything but Eobusti. Diligent search revealed no trace of the tomb of the daughter, Marietta Eobusti, by whose side he wished THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 371 to be buried. She was a portrait painter of great merit, and so necessary to her father that he refused her to all who would take her away from Venice. Beyond the church open the lagoons, a broadening stretch of brightness and an infinite horizon. Tin- toretto lived on the Fondamenta dei Mori, and Titian on the so-called Nuova. In their day there were fine gardens on these Fondamenti, and glorious outlooks over the sea. The brightest campo in Venice is that where the equestrian statue of Colleoni confronts the facade of S. S. Giovanni e Paolo. The statue is an actual portrait of the noted condottiere on his stout war- horse, and is truly a magnificent work. The church is light Italian Gothic, with broad aisles, round col- umns, and a general glare of whiteness, somewhat softened by age and smoke of incense. The monu- ments are grander even than those of the Frari, one having not less than twenty-five figures, of nearly life size, and yet there is no crowding; another is a mass of marble towering from pavement to ceiling, a sort of curtain in front of which are statues of the commemorated deceased, all as ugly as they should be for a monument so devoid of taste. The finest tombs are sarcophagi with recumbent figures above, usually original and national in that they are life- like portraitures. One in every way noble and beau- 372 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. tiful is that of Doge Tomaso Mocenigo, wrought by a Florentine, but thoroughly Venetian in character and feeling. In the Chapel of the Rosary was Titian's celebrated St. Peter Martyr, burned in 1867; it has been replaced by an indifferent copy. Another fa- mous picture, one of Giovanni Bellini's altar pieces, was also destroyed. We have sought in various places the works of the " sweet and solemn master," but found the most beautiful, the gem, in St. Zaccaria, a "Madonna Enthroned with Saints." He painted Madonnas to harmonize with Christian emotions, but never forgot corporeal beauty. His personages af- firm that they are copies from life, so closely do they resemble local realities in all traits ; as a colorist, in his own manner, he is unapproachable, but he dealt with no mysteries, no subtle plays of light and shadow. He painted what he felt and saw, miracles substantial to touch and eye. The Riva degli Schiavoni is a broad, crescent-shaped quay, paved with large flag-stones ; shops, cafes and barracks on one side, and on the other a line of ship- ping, San Giorgio and the Lido. We should have built the palaces here, fronting this superb outlook over the lagoons, that from our own marble roof-tree we might have watched spectacles of sea and sky, dissolving views of flickering tints in superabundance of sunshine, and seen Galleys and Indiamen under THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 373 full sail coming in from beyond the great walls. The Venetian patrician was not of our mind; he preferred the security and seclusion offered by narrow water- ways, better content to come out in his gondolas for sights and sounds of the open lagoon; and to the Eiva as a promenade for sunshine on winter after- noons. There is nevertheless, no want of variety on the Biva; we met Turks turbaned and solemn, then a Greek in white petticoat and gold embroidered jacket, and Chioggiote and Sporade sailors, and learned that Phrygian scarlet is finer in cotton than silk — more picturesque. There were also dignified inacces- sible Englishmen, blonde, inquiring Germans, incred- ulous, flippant French, and Americans, the last not to be characterized by one of themselves, but they preponderated in numbers if in nothing else. Crowd- ing upon the footways were numerous trinket shops under great umbrellas, brown cloaked peasants, either sitting or prone upon the pavement, basking in the sunshine, the beggars having taken as their own belongings the steps of bridges, where they were more exclusive and surer of their prey. We noticed among the would-be fashionables that there was nothing strictly Venetian but color in costumes. French modes, forms, laces, bows and fringes, were seen everywhere; they regulate hat, train, jupe and man- tle, but are helpless to eradicate the true Venetian's 374 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. instinctive love of brilliant lines. Paolo Veronese still lives in this vindication of him. At the end of the Eiva, and entered by a beautiful Gothic gateway, are the Public Gardens, the gift of Napoleon, who to make room for them demolished several fine old structures. The gardens are exceed- ingly formal, planted mostly with sycamore trees, but serve the good purpose of an airy rendezvous for the poorer classes, — groups of old women, and frowzy headed girls, beggars and soldiers, and vendors of water, fruit and fish, supplemented by local and itinerant organ grinders. The last, either to amuse themselves or for the laudable intent of getting our coppers, struck up the lively strains of a dance, which proved beautiful in purpose, acting as an inspiration for a band of young girls, who, taking each other by the hand like Guido's "Circling Hours," whirled over the grass, and up and down the broad walks, — laughing, glad improvisations of the simple poetry of motion. "With several other Americans we had been invited to visit the Cananclaigua, the United States war-ship lying in the harbor. Small boats, flying diminutive ^star-spangled banners and manned by American sea- men, were sent to "fetch us." One never knows how much he loves his own country till he has lived awhile among strangers, and under strange flags. THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 375 Having passed an hour very pleasantly, been shown the appointments of the ship, and stood once more under our own brave stars and stripes, we took leave of the gallant commander of the Canandaigaa, and were returned, not directly, but in the roundabout circuit of the Arsenal and Docks, to the Gardens. There we waited for the make-up of one of the most gorgeous sunsets that ever illumined either terrestrial or celestial things. The sun descending toward the western mountains kindled upon their summits fiery splendors. The line of the Guidecca, the Dogana's Hercules and high-held ball of Fortune, with the grand statues and graceful cupolas of Maria Salute, became fine deep-cut intaglios against glowing brightness. Nearer edifices, campanili, churches, pin- nacles and palaces, took hues of azure and violet, or tones of pale grays and ruddy browns, according to the depth of shadow in which they lay, while sails, spars, and masts of ships at anchor trembled in a net- work of golden scintillations stretched between sea and sky. Substantial forms seemed to have their foun- dations in the sea, where all were mirrored, as were also the cloud masses, piled in ranges of topaz, ruby, and amethyst, changeful and interchanging. Soon outlines grew less distinct, and depths more mysteri- ous. The city vaguely defined looked like a giant ship headed toward darkening unfathomable waters, 376 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. where but a moment before reflections of the western conflagration had touched the blade of a wave, flashed the whirl of eddies, or made roseate a billow of foam. Finally all was lost in a mingling of forms beneath a quiet gently enfolding twilight, all but phantom visions, — caprices of the imagination flitting to and fro in the limitless. Presently five gondolas engaged for the evening came down to the Point, where we embarked, intend- ing to go to the Lido, and return with the tide by moonlight. We were quite a little fleet as we struck out from the shore ; before we left the lovely island of St. Elena, "the tender grave of a day that is dead," the moon came forth a soft golden gleam out of the vaulted canopy, and the tide, not idling by the way as we had, met us somewhat cityw r ard of Lido. Our slender crafts taking to its crest, floated back between two sapphire depths, the moon above leading our way, and below arfother moon seeming to lead a phantom fleet. In the waters, gleaming like a great darkness faintly and dubiously luminous, and the nocturnal air, mute but for the sound of breaking waves and the dis- tant roar beyond the Lido, there was a strangely sol- emn tone, as of a menace from the mighty power of the deep. Our gondolier, all mailed in moonlight and leaning upon his oar, was a very picturesque figure ; he might have added to any sentimental illusions by a THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 377 song, but did not. Gondoliers as a class have given up singing; even the "voice of Adria's o'er the waters sweep " is no longer heard. The city domes held aloft candelabras of crimson, jasper and agate, San Marco loomed up between two lines of flame, and Rivas hung out long garlands of lights, festooning with glitter arches of bridges and openings of canals; we floated on toward fairy -land, and the Piazza of San Marco. One glory difiereth from another, but far above all glories is that of moonlight upon the Adriatic, with her regnant city made so beautiful that it might be likened to the New Jerusalem seen in the vision of the poet of the Apocalypse. In Venice one forgets for a time the far-off main- land world of rattle, work and confusion, and begins to think of making it his home; for surely its fasci- nations can never grow less. Englishmen do some- times bring hither their household gods, set them up in the halls of a grand palace, and yield themselves to that joy-intoxication that finds everything Vene- tian beautiful and good. There is no place like Ven ice for beauty ; she is the pearl in Italy's chain of magnificent cities. Each day we have praised her forms, her color and her skies; revelled in the prodi- gality of her art, the gladness of her sun-flecked waves, and the richness of her stored archives; and each moonlight night we have told her of our love, 378 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. — yet, after all, we long for green forests, a river's bank and broad meadows enamelled with flowers, — the sonnd of water tumbling over rocky beds, lake- lets caught in mountain sides and the cry of the eagle from his lofty eyrie crag. We go to find them in the Tyrol. H 61- ™4 & 0> *o a » * A, ^ lO' ,0 ^ -*? ***** ^ v **v: v^ *>t~ **&■ "V ^°^ .-J a v ^\. 0' o o o 1 » -e^ » r oV O * » * o * aV ^V *o . k * A V * V * "Ov A «> *■ o. " ° « ° v r oK *°* O «i ^, JAN 79 N. MANCHESTER, INDIANA 46962 A - ^ .0 • v * °* *> ,0' a^ " ^^\n%" "^ ^ LIBRARY