This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.

FROM
THE THAMES
TO THE TIBER;

OR,
My Visit to Paris, Rome, Florence,
Venice,
Milan, Switzerland, etc.,
With Illustrations.

BY
J. WARDLE

Author of

“General Gordon, Saint and
Soldier.”
“Tour in Palestine and Egypt.”
“Sound at heart,” etc.

A. TAYLOR,
CHAPEL BAR, NOTTINGHAM.
1909.

p.
iCONTENTS.

p. vLIST OF
ILLUSTRATIONS.

p.
vi“Go, little book, God send the good passage,
And specially let this be thy prayer:
Unto them all that thee will read or hear,
Where thou art wrong, after their help to call,
Thee to correct in any part or all.”

—CHAUCER.

p. 1CHAPTER
I.

London: Its teeming millions of population:
Its commercial aspect: Leaving Victoria Station for New Haven: On
the Boat: New found friends: Landing at Dieppe: Leaving for
Paris: Rouen, its Cathedral, etc.

We had settled to have a holiday—not a mere pic-nic, not
a week-end at Blackpool, or a tour of a few days in the Isle of
Man—but a real first-class, out-and-out trip.  Where
then is it to be?  Why, to Rome and back, came the
reply.  From St. Paul’s in London, the largest city in
the world, to St. Peter’s in Rome, one of the great cities
of the ancient world.

“To Rome!” my friends said in astonishment.

“Yes! to Rome.”  There seems to be magic p. 2in the very
word.  Rome—The Eternal City.  The city of the
seven hills.  The city of which St. Paul was proud to be a
citizen.  See Acts, chapter 22, verse 25.  “Is it
lawful for you to scourge a man that is a Roman,
uncondemned?” verse 28.  “Then the Chief Captain
came and said unto him.  Tell me, art thou a
Roman?”  He said, “Yes.”

Rome stands for power.  Her proud eagles once swept their
wings over almost the then known world.  Rome stands for
antiquity, greatness, wealth, splendour, conquest and
colonization, liberty, law, self control, prowess, skill. 
But, alas!  It also stands for cruelty, luxury, strife, war,
humiliation, decay, decline.

This is the objective really of our holiday.  Now it is
settled, ways and means, and the route, etc., are but
details.  Packing!  Well, I am a poor hand at
packing.  I think it must be a gift to be able to pack
well.  I think a good packer must be born, not made. 
If I pack, sure as fate, the things I want first are at the
bottom of the trunk.  My dear little wife, to whom I owe
much for packing and general comfort during the tour, and,
indeed, I owe to her well-kept journal, much that assists me to
make this record of our holiday.

On the 25th September, 1907, we found ourselves en route for
London, followed by the good wishes and prayers of loved ones
left p. 3behind,
also of the many friends we knew had kind thoughts of us. 
We reached London about 6 p.m., and were soon snug and
comfortable in “The Manchester Hotel.”  We had
no time and no special wish just now to see London.  London
cannot be seen in a day or two.  Its magnitude bewilders,
having a population of about 7,000,000, and for its teeming
millions, there is need of bread, milk, beef, clothes, work,
etc.  We cannot understand at a glance what it means. 
In London we have the largest breweries, distilleries, and sugar
refineries in the Kingdom; also many metal manufacturers and
machine makers, including: plate, jewellery, watches, brass
works, and all kinds of tin and zinc works; large printing and
publishing houses; also, as you know, large millinery and
tailoring establishments; cabinet-making on a most extensive
scale, leather-working, coopering, coach-building, ship-building,
hat-making, extensive chemical works, soap manufacturing and dye
works; also dock labourers, ’bus drivers, cab drivers, tram
guards and drivers, railway men and engine drivers, policemen,
postmen, ministers of religion, there being over 3,000 churches
in this great city, and many other means of living besides the
few I have mentioned.  Then there are its hotels, as
“The Manchester Hotel” where we are p. 4staying,
“The Midland Grand,” “Grand Hotel,”
Trafalgar Square, “The Victoria Hotel” in
Northumberland Avenue.  Many more offering accommodation to
the tens of thousands of visitors to this great city from all
lands.  We cannot refrain from mentioning the religious
aspect of the city.  We have our noble Cathedral, St.
Paul’s, always worth a visit, if only for its monuments and
torn banners, and its choral service; then we have
“Spurgeon’s Tabernacle”; “The City
Temple,” where once ministered that mighty man of God, Dr.
J. Parker; also Wesley’s Church; City Road West London
Mission, and many others I cannot describe.

Its theatres on all hands, who claim their votaries by tens of
thousands nightly.  The underground electric railways give
to the city traveller and visitor an idea of the vastness and
importance of the City.  However, it was no part of my
intention when I began this record to describe London, so I will
content myself with saying we only spent one night in the city on
our outward journey.

Many of my readers will be quite familiar with the streets,
shops, bazaars and churches of this great hive of human life,
human industry, and human skill.  A good night’s rest
and we rose refreshed for our journey, now it is to Paris. 
We had very little p.
5difficulty in re-packing our valise and trunk, settling
our account and calling to our rescue a porter.  We were
soon in train at Snow Hill for Victoria, arriving at this latter
place in time to catch “The Continental” for New
Haven and Dieppe.  It is not an easy matter even with a
porter to guide you, to find out amidst such a labyrinth of
platforms and stair-cases to find the train you want, and to get
a comfortable seat.  We managed, however, ultimately to
reach the right platform and to find a seat in a comfortable
compartment.  We noticed our fellow passengers, by label on
their luggage, were also going to foreign fields and to
Continental cities.  The morning was a lovely autumn
morning.  As we steamed out of Victoria Station we got a
sight of the lovely landscape, the morning sun was shining in
great brilliance.  We passed villages of importance, and
towns in rapid succession.  Lewes was a stopping place not
far from New Haven.  We did not stay long at this station,
just long enough for the railway officials to satisfy themselves
we were all furnished with tickets for the Continent.  After
leaving Lewes, we were in New Haven in about half-an-hour.

New Haven is about 56 miles from London.  A pretty place,
lying at the foot of the white chalk cliffs.  It has a
population of about p.
63,000.  It is, however, an important place, as the
mail packets for the cities of Europe leave here twice
daily.  Our train ran us very close up to the landing stage,
and the securing our luggage and getting it conveyed from train
to steamer was only the work of about ten minutes, and was
managed without the least difficulty.  The weather continued
all we could desire, and it seemed quite clear we were going to
have a calm sea and a pleasant voyage across channel.  We
got very nice seats on the boat; we found our fellow-passengers
on the whole most agreeable, polite, and, indeed, friendly; were
we not all on pleasure bent, and should we not now, on the wide
ocean, show to others respect.  We strolled the deck of our
pretty little vessel, she was a beauty, and behaved so well, we
had not the least fear of that terrible disease that afflicts so
many who sail the seas, I mean what the French call
mal-de-mer—“the sickness of the sea.”  We
had hardly lost sight of the white cliffs of dear, old England,
when our thoughts went back to home, and to loved ones. 
Then we began to think of refreshments.  We found a menu
that filled us with hopefulness that an agreeable meal at least
might be obtained.  We went to the buffet and found we could
get a real good English dinner.  This we had and enjoyed it
heartily; I considered it p. 7excellent, and my wife, who is a
connoisseur in the cookery line, declared she was well
satisfied.

A newly-married couple joined us.  We found they were on
their honeymoon.  A very happy couple apparently.  In
our hearts we wished that their lives might be as smooth as the
sea we were now crossing.  We became quite friends before we
got half way across the channel.  I had my Kodak with me, so
I must take a snap-shot or two of the happy pair; then I and my
wife must submit to the same process.  So the time passed
pleasantly, and in about three hours we were landing on the
shores of France at Dieppe.

Our little ship, as if in a hurry to serve us, was quickly up
at the landing stage, and we were safe on shore with our baggage,
en route for the Custom House.  We soon found out we were in
a foreign land, because a foreign tongue was spoken, and although
I am able to parley vous un peu, I could not hold conversation
with a Frenchman, he speaks so quickly.  I, however, could
ask a simple question in French and also give a simple answer to
a question, and this was of immense value to me during this
tour.  Our trunks duly examined, and free, we had a short
time to look round Dieppe.

On our strolling about a little, waiting for p. 8our train, we
saw a little of this rather important French town and watering
place.  It has a population of about 20,000; it lies in a
hollow so to speak; the white chalk hills surround it; the quays
are substantially built of solid masonry.  Dieppe seems to
have an old castle, quite out-of-date, as a defence; there is
also a citadel of modern construction; a small light-house, about
40-feet high, stands by the entrance of the town.  We
learned that a large number of French people come to Dieppe for
the summer and autumn holidays.  There are some works for
the labouring classes, such as: ivory works, one of the most
famous in Europe; also there are some works in horn, in bone,
some in lace, some sugar refineries, a little ship-building, and
the fishing industry is fairly prominent; a good supply of
herring and mackerel is sent daily to Paris; also there are
extensive oyster beds, which are a source of profit to the
inhabitants.  We boarded the train about 4 o’clock
p.m., and leaving Dieppe and the sea behind us, we steamed away
at a rapid rate towards Paris.  We passed some lovely
country, rich in fruit and foliage; some most beautiful Chalets,
with grounds like fairyland; also, we saw the working-class home,
apparently very poor, no windows and little furniture; they seem
to live out of doors, and eat very much fruit and p. 9vegetables;
they appear, however, healthy and strong.  We saw some one
or two cemeteries, and so near we could see very strange archways
of flowers or wood, or marble over the graves, and very large
crucifix’s.

We had left our new found friends at Dieppe, so now we were
more alone to enjoy each others company, and to speak of the
scenery and places as we passed them.  In about an
hour-and-an-half we reached Rouen.  A very large and
important railway station.  Here we stayed a little while,
and we could see the town was large and important.  It was
formerly the capital of the province of Normandy.  It is one
of the best commercial centres in France.  It has been
called the Manchester of France on account of its great cotton
manufactories, producing goods to the value of 80,000,000 francs
annually.  It has also manufactories of hosiery, silk and
wool fabrics, hardware and machinery.  It is an important
sea-port, as it has a harbour that can receive steamers of 600
tons.  It has a population of about 150,000.  The
Cathedral of Notre Dame, built between 1207 and 1210, is a fine
Gothic building.  The spire is nearly 500 feet high. 
In this old Cathedral rests the remains of Rollo, first Duke of
Normandy, and his son William.

M. B. Edwards, in a poem, says of this p. 10old-world
Cathedral:—

“The isles grow dim, and as by winding
ways,
   Eager I climb St. Onen’s giddy height,
The silver censers vanish from my gaze
   As shooting stars upon a dusky night
I hear the chanting vespers at my feet
Like wordless water, music fair and sweet.

“On priest and acolyte and people falls,
   From western window many a sapphire ray;
The sculptured knights within the niched walls
   Look not more mute and marble-like than they,
Living and dead with fingers clasped seem praying
God and the angels hear what they are saying.

“The city gleams with lights that come and go,
   The hills are cut against the opal west;
The river hath a soft and onward flow
   As some tired spirit fain to seek its rest,
While from the far outlying mists of green
Tinkle some vesper bells of Church unseen.

“Monk, Martyr, Saint, and paladin arise
   Around me now in pinnacled array;
An hour ago they seemed to touch the skies,
   At last I stand as near to heaven as they,
And at last ’mid this mute companionship of stone
I cannot feel that I am quite alone.”

p.
11CHAPTER II.

Arrival in Paris: Our Hotel—“Hotel
Londres and New York”: Visit to the Louvre: The Cathedral
of Notre Dame: The Church of St. Geniveve: The Pantheon: Bloody
Bartholomew: Its awful massacre.

Our stay in Rouen was of the briefest, so we were soon full
steam ahead for Paris, and Rouen was left behind.  We
crossed some wonderful bridges of the rivers, or river; I think
we crossed the Seine several times.

On approaching the suburbs of Paris, we saw large villas and
larger mansions, surrounded with luxuriant foliage; indeed, the
whole landscape is charming.  Soon we found the train
rattling over points and crossings, and into Gare de
Lazare.  So we are in Paris; the city of gaiety, the city of
beauty, the goal of pleasure seekers from all parts of the world;
a city, it is said by Victor Hugo, combines in
itself—Athens, Rome, Jerusalem—such is the city we
have just entered, and which is to be our home for two or three
days.  The distance from the station to our
Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York,” 15, Place
du Havre, is so short that our p. 12luggage was conveyed by porter,
without a cab; we just walked across the square, and we were in
the Hotel.  I had, however, a difficulty on hand with the
porter.  My idea of remuneration for porter’s services
were by no means up-to-date for Paris; I thought a franc for ten
minutes’ service ample.  He, evidently, did not think
so, as he showed himself highly dissatisfied, and expressed
himself in language (happily I understood but little of) anything
but polite.  I told the Hotel Manager how I had acted, and
he went and sent him away.

When in Paris, if you are in doubt as to your exact position,
and want direction (in England you would say, “ask a
policeman”), in France—pardon, monsieur, Quel est le
chemin pour le madoline.  If you put on side, he won’t
notice you; if you offer him a tip, he will probably take you for
a spy, and arrest you as an anarchist.  The lifting of the
hat and the word “monsieur” is an open sesame which
appeals to all Frenchmen, and smooths away many difficulties; it
transforms the haughty policeman into the politest of bobbies;
the frowning hotel-keeper into the most jovial of hosts; and the
cross-grained custom house official into a most agreeable
acquaintance.  You must avoid whistling while in Paris; the
Scotchman says, “Ye mauna whustle on the Sabbath”;
this saying must be applied to p. 13every day of the week in Paris;
nothing is so irritating to a Frenchman, except perhaps the sight
of a British tourist, arrayed in white flannels, marching in
their grand Cathedrals, or even one of their ordinary Churches,
with a cigarette in his mouth.  The untravelled man soon
finds out the difference between an English and a Continental
City, and habits of the people.

We were shown to our rooms, which we found clean and
comfortable; the Hotel is all we could desire.  A porter, at
the entrance, speaks fairly good English.  We soon had a
good square meal, in the shape of table-de-hote, which we were
quite ready for and enjoyed; plenty of fruit on the tables,
grapes, oranges, apples and peaches.  After satisfying the
inner man, we strolled into the lounge or writing-room, which we
found most convenient and pleasant—writing material,
newspapers and bills of concerts, plays, etc.; also, here I could
enjoy my pull at the weed.  We were not late in retiring to
rest; rest we could, but not sleep for a time; I thought, O!
restless Paris!  The only time that is quiet from tram,
’bus and cab seems to be from about 1 a.m. to 3 a.m.; after
this early hour, wagons begin to lumber past, farmers from the
country, I think, with produce which must be in the market
early.  We slept, however, a p. 14few hours, rising fairly early for
dejeuner, we were able to enjoy a cup of coffee made in Paris;
coffee here is perfect; roll and butter, fish, eggs, etc. 
Breakfast over we engaged a cab, a taxi-cab, and we drove round
some parts of this wonderful city; we went by some parts of the
banks of the river Seine, and here there are literally miles of
quays, and the river is spanned by fifteen bridges, some of them
of great strength and beauty.

The Louvre was one of the places we visited.  No one
would think of going to Paris without seeing this vast pile of
buildings; no less than sixty acres, I learned, in the very heart
of the city was taken up by this building.  It stands to-day
as it has stood for more than an hundred years, with its grand
facades, pavillions and colonnades, and its splendid halls,
saloons and galleries, as a proud monument to the ancient Royalty
of France.  It was the home of Henry III., till civil war
drove him from his capital, and he perished at St. Cloud by the
assassin’s knife.  Here for a time Henry of Navarre
had his abode.  It is now a museum or a series of grand
museums; miles of the most wonderful paintings, choice
sculptures, Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman antiquities,
bronzes, historic relics from far off lands, and from different
races, engravings and models—indeed, it is a great p. 15storehouse of
art.  During the war with Germany, the Communists set fire
to one of the wings and the library of 90,000 volumes and many
rare manuscripts were destroyed.

It is said that on the night of the 23rd of May, a troop of
Germans had entered the city and made their way so far, they
ordered the porter or door-keeper of the Louvre to pour petroleum
into the different rooms, and on his refusal, they imprisoned him
and his wife in his own lodge, and then at once set fire to the
place.  Next day the French troops arrived in time to
release him from his sad plight, and also to arrest the flames in
their destructive work.

The Cathedral of Notre Dame, of course, came in for a
visit.  It stands, we are told, on the site on which the
Roman conqerors erected a temple to Jupiter.  This Cathedral
is a marvel of architectural beauty.  As you gaze you wonder
at the skill of the architect, and also of sculpture, for there
are in marble and stone fanciful scenes from bible history
portrayed—the Kings of Judah; a colossal image of the
Virgin Mother; Adam and Eve.  There are many pointed arches
and stained windows glistening in the sun’s rays.  Two
massive towers rising to the height of 200 feet.  The
interior is in keeping with the exterior, only, if possible,
richer and finer; the length p. 16is about 400 feet, and the breadth
about 150.  It has stood in its beauty on this spot during
the last 600 years.

One of the Chapels of this Cathedral contains, they tell us,
some wonderful relics.  For instance, “a part of the
crown of thorns with which our Saviour was crowned in
mockery”; also the sponge and winding sheet used at His
death.  Kings and princes of the Roman Catholic persuasion
have vied with each other in the costliness of their offering at
this sacred shrine—cups, gold cups, silver cups, vases,
candlesticks, crosses in gold and silver, some studded with
diamonds, and all kinds of precious stones.  There are
curiosities and art treasures in abundance within the precincts
of this holy place.  It must have been a proud day for
Napoleon when he came to be crowned in this great Cathedral,
heralded by Popes, Marshalls and sword-bearers.  Bearers
bore his train amidst the most brilliant assembly of this, or any
other land.

Another notable building we visited after the Cathedral of
Notre Dame, I think more interesting in its way—what was at
one time the Church of St. Geniveve—now it is known as the
Pantheon.  It stands upon an elevation, and its magnificent
dome can be seen from almost all parts of the city.  It
rises to p. 17a
height of 267 feet.  The funds to build it with, we are
told, were provided by lottery at the time of Louis XV.  Its
approach is very attractive, being by a stately portico, and by a
triumphal progress.  The grand car, upon which the
Sarcophagus containing the body of Voltaire was laid, was drawn
by twelve white horses to the Pantheon.  It is said that
100,000 people joined in the procession.  Rousseau and Marat
were buried with similar honours; but we are told, that so fickle
is the populace, that six months after, the body of one of them
was removed and buried in a common sewer.  Our guide was not
shy in showing us the very sad effects of the German
shells.  The large dome was shot through by their cannon
balls, and, but for the timely help of the troops from
Versailles, very likely this noble building would have shared the
same fate as many others did.

Opposite the grand collonade, near the Louvre, is the Church
of St. Germain, with its strange gable, buttresses and
gargoyles.  From the belfry of this Church, it is said,
“rang out the tocsin,” which was the signal for the
massacre of St. Bartholomew, on the 24th of August, 1572. 
At the dead of night—fit time for such awful deeds of blood
and murder—at the sound of this tocsin the courtly butchers
went forth to their work of slaughter, armed p. 18and shouting
“for God and the King.”  They forced the
dwellings of the Christians.  Six thousand of these
assassins, wielding the weapons of the brigand and the soldier,
ran about in the wildest fury, murdering without mercy or
distinction of sex, or suffering, or age.  Many of these
fiends in human form ran shouting “kill the heretic, kill
the heretic!  Death to the Huguenots—Kill! 
Kill!!”

That day the human seemed to be turned into the fiend. 
It is said there perished in Paris alone, over 15,000 Christian
Martyrs, and in the provinces more than as many more.  The
sun of that beautiful sabbath shone with its pure light upon the
desolate and dishonoured homes of the victims of this terrible
massacre; and the air, which should have been hushed from sound
until the psalm of praise woke it, bore upon its midnight billows
the yell of fierce blasphemers flushed and drunk with
murder.  Says one, “Unhappy, Paris, thou hast suffered
many things since that unhappy time.”

There are many interesting Churches in this gay city, but I
must refrain from dwelling upon their beauty and utility.

p.
19CHAPTER III.

Paris: Palace de Concorde: Champs Elysees: The
Bois de Boulogne: The extensive Boulevards: The River Seine,
etc.: Leaving Paris: Arrive at Dijon: Our Hotel: Dijon, its
Churches, etc.: Our journey to Chambery, etc.

The Place de la Concorde.  Here we were pointed out was a
place where a terrible struggle took place between the Germans
and the French in 1871.  The work of devastation and ruin
was only too apparent.  We drove to the Champs
Elysees.  This is a most lovely place, with a broad avenue a
mile long, with trees on each side of all sorts, and grass lawns
and flower beds in the greatest profusion.  Here wander
carelessly the gay crowds, or sit in beautiful little cafes under
the spreading branches of the trees.  In the groves around
the children are swarming, shouting, and playing.  We
noticed there was the ever-loved of children, “The Punch
and Judy,” also with stalls with toys, gingerbread, etc.,
etc.

When the darkness gathers and the numerous and brilliant gas
jets are lighted, stretching p. 20for the distance of more than a mile,
and music and song float on the air, the scene is very
fascinating.  It is said, that along this broad avenue, in
1871, Paris with suppressed rage—watched the last of the
German army disappear.  Our jarvey then drove us to the Bois
de Boulogne, which is not far from here.  This is a grand
promenade for chariots and horses, a little like our Rotten Row,
in London.  There are here to be seen lakes, islands,
caverns, artificial mounds, avenues, and, indeed, everything to
make a most charming retreat from the busy city life.  The
Champ de Mars is another of the open spaces.  Napoleon,
before the famous battle of Waterloo, held his last review of the
grand army of France here.  Again, in 1852, 60,000 soldiers
were brought together on the occasion of the distribution of
eagles to the different regiments, also several Arabs, in native
costume, as representative of the vanquished Algerian
tribes.  And here again, sad to say, in 1871, the Germans
levelled their dreadful “mitrailleuse” and shot down,
in their helplessness, many of the French.  We can hardly
leave Paris without saying further that the boulevards of Paris
are a great boon and joy to the city.  Whatever may be
thought or said of the career of Napoleon III., in fourteen years
he spent £60,000,000 in building seventy p. 21miles of
streets and two hundred boulevards, eight churches, eighty
schools, twelve wonderful bridges, and planted fifty thousand
trees.  All added ultimately to the wealth as well as the
attractions of the city.  To describe the streets is a task
I shall not attempt.  They are called Rue—as Rue
Lafitte, Rue de la Chausse, Rue de la Victorie, Rue St.
Dennis.  The numerous places and things in and around Paris
that call for remarks are legion, but I must forbear, only to
give one passing reference to the river Seine and its many
bridges.  Pont Notre Dame or the bridge of Our Lady, dates
from the fifteenth century; a bridge of later date, we were told,
was made of wood, and fell into the river taking sixty houses
with it.  This is a fine bridge built of solid
masonry.  The Pont d’Arcole is a suspension bridge for
foot passengers only.  The Pont Neuf was built by Henry
IV.  There is a bronze horse on the bridge which was cast in
Tuscany.  On its way to Paris, the vessel bringing it was
wrecked off the Norman coast, and lay for a year at the bottom of
the sea.  It was ultimately fished up and brought to its
present position.  And now I must leave, for a time at
least, any further reference to Paris, only to say we settled our
account at the Hotel and drove off to Gare-de-Lyon to catch the
p. 22train at
10.25 for Dijon.  Our driver was a very interesting sort of
Frenchman, and tried to explain and show us places and things,
but we were little the better for his attempts to enlighten
us.  We reached the station early, and were soon steaming
away through France, and as we did so, we came to the conclusion
it was as fair a land as e’er we had set eyes on; miles of
lovely lawns; hedges cut and trimmed as if by a barber; the
poplar trees rising in rows, long and even, all in order and
beauty; then the rivers here and there rolling along, between
grassy banks, and the lovely fat looking cattle browsing or
sleeping in soft sunshine; cosy cottages, almost buried in bowers
of roses; quaint old world villages, with red-tiled cottages; and
stately churches with ivy covered towers, made one think of the
poet who sang:—

“Through thy cornfields green and sunny
vines,
O, pleasant land of France.”

We had very comfortable seats in the train, and our travelling
companions, I think, saw we were foreigners, therefore did not
trouble us with any conversation.  The country scenery we
passed was charming, as the autumn tints were visible upon the
trees; also the rich corn harvest was gathered in, and stacks of
wheat were plentiful.  Labourers p. 23we could see in the fields tilling
the soil for next year’s produce.  The country we
passed through in our journey from Paris to Dijon (our next stop)
is comparatively flat, slightly undulating in places, and I
should think the soil is of a rich nature.  About 6
o’clock we arrived at Dijon, and soon were out of the train
and into the hotel ’bus.  We had arranged beforehand
our hotel from a list supplied from “Cook &
Sons.”  Here we had chosen the “Grand Hotel de
la Cloche,” or we should call it the “Bell
Hotel.”  After having secured our
apartments—which were of a first-class order, most
profusely decorated and richly furnished, and clean beyond
description—we had a wash, and found table-de-hote was
ready, and we were ready too.  A well prepared and well
served dinner of eight courses; wines free and abundant to those
who cared to have it; indeed, a bottle of the French red wine was
placed to each individual at the table; fruit in abundance. 
A very good company, and apparently very jolly.  All were
foreigners, either French, German or Italian.  After dessert
we went for a little while to the smoke room, and then to
bed.  We slept well until very early in the morning, when a
terrible storm of thunder and lightning broke over the
town—it was very startling, being so severe.  We
learned, when at breakfast, that p. 24a woman had been struck by lightning
close by our hotel; she, however, was not killed.

Dijon lies in a valley, the river Onche runs through it, and a
beautiful undulating piece of land, covered with vines, lies to
the left of the town, which is nearly 200 miles from Paris. 
It has now, I believe, a population of about 50,000.  We
took the best means of seeing it in the short time at our
disposal, by hiring a car.  One of the most jolly-looking
Frenchmen I ever saw, with a face as round and red as an apple,
his horse was just as fat as a horse could be, and he cared for
it as if it was human, or even more than some human beings are
cared for.  He drove us to some lovely gardens where there
was a fine lake and a fountain which was then playing. 
Having my Kodak with me I took a snap-shot, though I regret to
say, I did not get a good picture.  We drove to the lovely
Cathedral of St. Boniface, built, we were told, for the third
time in the twelfth century.  The spire is very fine, rising
to a height of 300 feet.  We also visited St.
Michael’s, which is Grecian in its exterior, but it is
Gothic in its interior.  We passed a very old Carmelite
Church with rich carving about the entrance, and a fine old
carved oak door.  On the steps sat two old men resting,
typical of the labouring class of France.  I just managed to
get a snap-shot.  There is a p. 25fine town hall, which shows itself to
great advantage.  We learnt it was at one time the Palace of
the Duke of Burgundy, and had then a very large collection of
scientific and art subjects, and a library of 50,000
volumes.  Dijon is one of the loveliest towns of
France.  It has in it some manufacturies as woollen cloth,
blankets, glue, baskets, mustard oil, saltpetre, and there is
also a brewery.  At the time of the Roman invasion, it is
said, Cæsar fixed and fortified a camp near here.  The
Germans attacked it in 1871, and it capitulated on October 23rd
of that year, after a long and severe struggle, and was made, for
the time being (to the great chagrin of the inhabitants) the
head-quarters of the German General Werder.  Having made as
full an acquaintance of the place as we could in the short time
at our disposal, we paid our hotel account and found ourselves
again at the railway station.  Here I had a long and angry
altercation with the ticket examiner.  I understood him to
say our tickets were for another route; I closely scanned them,
and assured him in the best French at my command, our tickets
were in order, and, after considerable difficulty, he consented
to our passing the stile and getting, to the train.  Again
we were on rail, comfortably fixed and destined for
Chambery.  We had not left Dijon long before we noticed the
p. 26vine-clad
hills, which indicated our approach to the South of France, and
Alpine hills.  The scenery grew more beautiful as we sped
along towards our destination.  We were able not only to
enjoy the views as we passed villages and hamlets—but were
able to get a fairly good square meal on the train.  We
arrived safely at Chambery about 5 o’clock, and as usual we
had fixed upon an hotel.  This time it is Hotel de France,
and we were soon in a rumbling old ’bus and driven to a
very quiet part of this quiet sleepy little town.  We found
it fairly comfortable, and a hostess who had a robust and bonny
appearance, and whose welcome in the French fashion was all we
could wish.  Our rooms were lofty and rather barely
furnished.  There was a feeling of chilliness about the
place, but we were only staying for one night, so would put up
with it.  A good hot table-de-hote dinner, and we felt
better.  To bed at an early hour, was our habit, and here we
did not break it.  A good night’s rest, and I was
stirring early to look round and get information.  It is a
town of about 13,000 inhabitants.  An Archbishop resides
here (of the Romish Church) of course.  It has some
manufacturies in silk gauze, watches, leather, etc.  I saw
some soldiers on horseback on parade and took a snap-shot. 
Also two fine bullocks pulling a wagon of p. 27timber. 
We had a very good breakfast, as our hostess was most gracious
and obliging.  We settled up accounts, which we found on a
moderate scale, indeed, cheaper than a similar hotel in
England.  We started for the station on foot, the morning
being fine, while a porter conveyed our luggage on a
wheelbarrow.  Arriving in good time at the station we
managed to get good comfortable corner seats, so we could
“view the landscape o’er” at our leisure. 
We soon found it was worth surveying, for we were nearing the
Alps.  On our left, some fifty miles or more—Geneva
and, between the city and Chambery, lay a rugged mountainous
district scarcely matched in any part of the world.  For an
hour or more we watched the changing scenery with an intense
interest.

p.
28CHAPTER IV.

Our journey to and through Mont Cenis Tunnel:
Passing the Customs: Our new friend Nurse Reynolds: Our scrimmage
for provisions at Turin: Arrival at Genoa and Table-de-hote:
Arrival at Rome and our Hotel, etc.

Mountains, rivers, waterfalls, landscapes, vineyards, castles,
chalets, and in some cases, so near the villages, we saw children
playing on the village green, our train steaming on at a good
speed, we soon found ourselves at Modane.  This is the
frontier between France and Italy, and here I expected we should
have to change trains, go through the Customs, and re-embark on
another train.  So we got out of the train.  I soon
found, however, we were not to change, so we re-entered another
part of the same train, and here we were civilly and carefully
dealt with; the very acme of politeness was shown.  Our bags
and valises were just opened, but scarcely examined.  We
declared we had nothing within, to the best of our knowledge and
belief, upon which duty was payable. When asked the question, I
answered “Non, Monsieur.”  When we came to
settle down p.
29before the train proceeded on its journey we noticed our
fellow travellers were different.  We found two ladies,
mother and daughter, going to join a near relative in India; an
Italian woman, not over clean, with a babe about four
weeks’ old; and a nurse in uniform who was going to Rome to
fill a position, also she wanted to learn the Italian
language.  My dear wife and this nurse soon became close
acquaintances, as they both had learned the profession, and for
some time they were too absorbed almost to notice the scenery we
were passing, for we were now nearing the Alps through which we
were to pass.  We reached Mont Cenis duly, and, as we heard
so much of this terrible tunnel, we almost dreaded passing
through it.  At this point there is an old pass over Mont
Cenis, or roadway between Piedmont and Savoy, the highest point
11,570 feet above sea level.  The pass was an old unused
road, and dangerous on account of brigands and bandittis. 
Bonaparte, be it said to his credit, in 1803, spent
£300,000 in repairing it, and it was here the great
Napoleon III. sent his troops into Italy against Austria in
1859.  The tunnel is about eight miles in length.  To
make it was a work of almost superhuman labour and skill. 
It was commenced by two sets of men, one on the Italian side and
one set on the French side, in p. 30the year 1857; and so exact had been
the calculations made, that when the men met in the middle, they
were not a single foot out of their calculations.  The cost
was nearly £3,000,000, and quite a number of valuable
lives.  Now, both for business and pleasure, a way has been
opened to the sunny south.  We settled in our respective
corners as we pierced this great mountain, and gave ourselves up
to reflection.  The great train thundered on, and silence
largely held us all in its thrall.  The half-hour in going
through Mont Cenis seemed almost half-a-day.  At last we
emerged into the day light, and into the glorious sunshine of
sunny Italy, with its vine-clad hills, and its serene and sunny
sky—“Land of all lands the pride,” leaving
behind us the Alpine heights (to revisit them on our
return).  We were running for Turin.  We found we had
no buffet on the train, and as we had not laid in a stock of
refreshments, we began to feel the cravings of nature, and we
began to wonder how they were to be satisfied.  We
ultimately pulled up at Turin; how long we were to stop I did not
know, and I could not ask, for now it was beyond my bit of
French.  I said to my dear wife, here goes, we must have
bread or starve: if the train leaves before I return to
you—well, good-bye!  But I will do my best to be back
in a few minutes and before the p. 31train leaves.  Without hat I
rushed down the platform looking for a buffet, right at the
bottom of a long platform I saw the word buffet.  I darted
in, threw down a lire, and picked up two rolls of bread worth
about twopence each, also some fruit worth about as much.  I
seized these and hurried back to the carriage, passengers and
people looking on and the waiters seemed to think I must be an
escaped lunatic.  Well! I reached our carriage just as the
train was moving out.  What would have happened if I had
been left behind I do not care to think.  “All’s
well that ends well.”  So we got at least something
that would keep soul and body together until we could get a
proper meal.  We had decided to stop at Genoa, but my wife
said “well, now Nurse is going right through to Rome, let
us keep her company.”  So we decided not to remain at
Genoa, but to go right through; that meant twenty-four hours in
the train.  As we were approaching Genoa we could see lovely
vine-clad slopes, also the hills, the rivers and lakes, the
landscapes, lovely beyond my power to describe.

Genoa is a very fine city.  I felt I could say of it as
is said of the City of Jerusalem.  Beautiful for situation
is Genoa.  Here we found we should have time for dinner;
twenty minutes being allowed.  We left p. 32our
carriage—now I had two nurses to take care of—we had
to go under some arches, and across several platforms, to get to
the buffet; this took us five minutes out of the twenty.  We
found, to our extreme satisfaction, a table-de-hote fully set
out.  Soup was laid out and waiting; waiters plenty. 
No sooner one course was over, another was before
us—chicken, fish, saddle of mutton, pastry, ices, and more
than we needed—so that in ten minutes we had well satisfied
the inner man.  Cigars were lying on the counter, and each
passenger having dinner just helped himself, also to as much
fruit as we could conveniently take.  We were also helping
ourselves to Post Cards but these, we were reminded, we must pay
for as extra.  So we scampered back with all speed. 
Never, I think, did a dinner of eight courses disappear so
quickly.  We had no time to explore the town, and we could
only get glimpses of it from the train going in.  It is
called “le Superb.”  Has some of the finest
churches in Italy; is also a city of Commerce, of Shipping. 
It is a garrisoned city, and has fortifications considered
impregnable.  It is a city of palaces.  Also has a
picture gallery containing some fine paintings by the old
masters, one by Guercino, in the very best colouring,
“Virgin and Child.”  This has been a favourite
subject p. 33of
the Artists, as both in oils and in marble and stone, this
subject is prominent.  “The Flight into Egypt”
is another favourite.  These, however, we had not the
pleasure of seeing, so we could only have the pleasure of knowing
we had been near them.  We left Genoa about 9 p.m.; it was
quite dark, and so sultry we could hardly bear the heat of the
atmosphere.  We hutched up into our corners to try to sleep,
but with the rattle of the train, the screams of the baby, and
the impatience of the mother, we could not sleep, at least I
could not.  I think my wife got a little sleep.  So did
the nurse, our travelling companion.  Before midnight, there
broke over us a thunder storm.  The lightning was so vivid I
could clearly see the objects we passed, and it continued for
several hours.  We passed the leaning tower of Pisa before
daylight broke in upon us, we were also getting too tired to
enjoy the look out when the day broke.

As we sped on we expected to see the City of Rome about 10
a.m.  At last the vision burst upon our view.  Rome at
last.  Yes, certainly, there is the proud City.  Its
towers, spires and domes, and minarets, all glistening in the
morning sun.  The monuments and ruins of this city still
standing testifies to the greatness of its past history. 
The gigantic Colosseum to the humblest of ruins, everything p. 34in Rome is
eloquent in the language of history.  We soon hunted up our
luggage, and made our way out of the carriage to the
platform.  After a few words with our companion, the Nurse,
we separated.  She was expecting to be met, and we were
anxious to get to our hotel.  This time we had chosen the
“Grand Hotel Continental,” and finding their
’bus at the station we were soon conveyed to our
destination.

The hotel was certainly of a high-class order, and very
extensive.  The grand saloon for dining was most costly
furnished.  Mirrors and paintings on the walls gave
brilliancy and attractiveness to the scene.  The lecture
room, the smoke room, the reading room, were all most luxuriantly
fitted up.  The bed rooms also were sweet and clean. 
Abundance of lavatories, bathrooms, lifts, etc., make the place a
comfortable home from home.  After having fixed our number
(I mean the number of our bed room, this was always our first
business at a fresh hotel) we had breakfast, then a bath, for we
had no opportunity of even a good wash since leaving Chambery
twenty-four hours ago.  We were needing it badly.  An
ample supply of hot water for the bath, towels ready to hand,
soap we carried with us.  We thought it strange, but we
found it true, the hotels don’t find soap.  This p. 35reminds me of
Mark Twain’s position when in Italy, in his
“Innocents Abroad.”  He says, “We have had
a bath in Milan, in a public house.  They were going to put
all three of us in one bath tub, but we objected.  We chose
to have three tubs, and large ones—tubs suited to the
dignity of aristocrats who had real estate, and brought it with
them.  After we were stripped and had taken the first chilly
dash, we discovered that haunting atrocity that has embittered
our lives in so many cities and villages of Italy, there was no
soap.  I called.  A woman answered and I barely had
time to throw myself against the door, before she would have been
in, in another second.  I said, ‘Beware, woman! 
Go away from here—go away, now, or it will be worse for
you.  I am an unprotected male, but I will preserve my
honour at the peril of my life.’”  We had a good
bath, then to bed for a few hours, as we had had hardly any sleep
in the train.  We rose about 2.30 p.m. refreshed, and after
lunch we prepared for a stroll or ride to see the sights of this
wonderful city.  We soon found it is a wonderful city. 
The ancient and the modern are seen at almost every point. 
And yet you seem to feel there is no jar on your taste or
feeling.

p.
36CHAPTER V.

Visit to the Forum and the Colosseum: Crossing
the Tiber: Castle of St. Angelo: Palace of Justice:
Trajan’s Column: Garibaldi’s Monument: The Appian
Way: St. Peter’s: Its magnitude and magnificence: Michael
Angelo’s work.

Our first visit was to the Colosseum.  Among the many
sights of Rome none give us a better idea of its ancient
civilisation than the Forum and the Colosseum.  The heart of
the great Roman Empire throbbed in the Forum.  Here was, at
one time, the Senate, the market, the courts, indeed, it was the
very centre of the life of Rome.  As we gazed upon the
ruins, the vast marble columns, still standing, its broken
arches, and gables in ruins, it needed no great stretch of the
imagination to fancy we were back to the palmy days of Rome, and
the Forum is ringing with the cheers of the vast populace who
have sat under Cicero’s eloquence; or, we fancy we can hear
the tramp of Roman legions as they return from some nightly
conquest, passing the gates of this remarkable building. 
The ground it covered would be p. 37about 250,000 square feet. 
These, of course, embraced the market place, the rostrum, several
temples, and the triumphal arch.  The whole building was of
marble, and with its marvellous architecture, it must, in its
glory, have presented a striking appearance.  The Palace of
Cæsar stands just behind.  We had a chance of seeing a
little of the gardens, once belonging to this palace. 
Enough of the remains serve to show something of the wealth and
luxury of those ancient Emperors.  I took two snap-shots of
a part of the ruins of this wonderful place.  In my
photograph the marble columns are seen to be standing, and they
are where they have stood for the last fifteen hundred years at
least.  From here to the Colosseum, no less wonderful than
the Forum, we then made our way.  The first view of it
filled us with awe.  In its ruins it is awfully grand. 
It must surely be the most imposing ruin in Rome, and it is the
most historically interesting relic of ruin in the world. 
Vespasian began to build it in the year 72 A.D., and the Emperor Titus completed it
in the year 80 A.D. 
Historians tell us it was built by the forced labour of Jews and
Christians.  Its architect, they tell us, was one
“Gaudentius,” who afterwards became a Christian, and
died a martyr within the walls he himself had planned and helped
to build.  p.
38Originally it would hold in all 100,000 people, and
90,000 could be seated in its vast galleries and rooms.  It
would cover, apparently, about six acres of land.  Down to
the sixth century it remained in its beauty undiminished, and
little decayed.  Inside the vast building was a fine statue
of Nero.  The extreme length of the walls outside are about
six hundred feet, and the width nearly five hundred feet. 
There was originally a portico carried round the whole building,
adorned with gilded columns, while statues of the finest marble
filled the arcades, and there were rich awnings of silk for a
protection from the sun’s heat.  It is stated the
carnival lasted for several weeks, and no less than five thousand
wild beasts, some from the Indian Jungles, and some from the
African morasses took part.  These terrible gladiator fights
were the amusements for the aristocracy of Italy, and were
attended by stately courtiers and the nobles of the land. 
We saw the bars still standing in the ruins, behind which the
wild beasts lurked, waiting to be turned into the arena to fight
with gladiators, i.e., men trained, who with their lives in their
hands were prepared for this terrible ordeal.  If they came
out with the trophy they were applauded, and with honours
escorted through the streets of Rome.

Sometimes, at the p. 39bidding of the wicked Emperor Nero,
one hundred Christians would be brought into the arena, when a
vast crowd would be present to watch four or five lions and as
many tigers turned in, wild with fury, and mad with hunger, the
Christian martyrs were soon delivered from their fleshly tenement
and went up to their reward.  It is said that St. Ignatius
was brought from Antioch to be devoured by these wild
beasts.  Church traditions record many martyrs within these
now ruins.  Byron says:

“I see before me the Gladiator lie;
He leans upon his hand, his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony.
The arena swims around him, he is gone
E’er ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who
won.
He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away.
There were his young barbarians all at play.
There was their Dacian mother—he their sire
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.”

Or Keble:

“And now the gratings ope, with hideous
roar
Leap forth those hungry brutes, while kneel in prayer,
Those heaps of Christians, how their spirits soar
Above or wounds or death.”

p. 40I stood
and gazed, and thought, by those terrible ruins.  I think I
was as much affected as when I stood and gazed upon those
marvellous structures, the Pyramids of Egypt.  I took a
snap-shot of my dear little wife within the ruins of the
Colosseum, and we left it to ponder over its history and its
ruin.  We thought of the prophecy in prose of an Anglo-Saxon
Pilgrim.  He said: “While stands the Colosseum, Rome
shall stand; when falls the Colosseum, Rome shall fall.  And
when Rome falls—the world.”

“The Pantheon” was one of the places we were
delighted with.  This dated from before Christ’s time,
and is now in a wonderful state of preservation.  It was
originally dedicated by Agrippa to “All the
gods.”  It was consecrated as a church in the year 610
A.D. by Pope Boniface IV., under
the name of St. Maria.  The portico consists of sixteen
granite corinthian columns nearly forty feet high, eight in the
front and the others in three colonnades.  Inside, we were
struck with its beauty, especially by the arrangement for light
which comes from a vast dome over our heads.  We walked
reverently as we knew we were walking on the very same pavement
as Augustus and Agrippa, and others whose dust has long centuries
ago, gone to its mother earth.  Here rest the remains of one
of the p.
41world’s greatest painters—Raphael.  He
was buried in 1620.  In recent years a doubt was raised as
to whether he really was buried here, and a search was allowed
and made in 1833, it was then ascertained beyond the shadow of a
doubt that he was buried here, as his remains were intact. 
On leaving the Pantheon, and before crossing the Tiber, we were
reminded of the poet’s words referring to this church:
“Simple, erect, austere, sublime—Shrine of all saints
and temple of all gods from Jove to Jesus—Spared and blest
by time, looking tranquilly while falls or nods arch, empire,
each thing round thee, and man plods his way through thorns and
ashes—glorious dome! shalt thou not last? 
Times’ scythe and tyrant’s rods shiver upon
thee—Sanctuary and home of art and
piety—Pantheon!  Pride of Rome.”

After crossing the Tiber on one of its many wonderful bridges,
adorned on each side by statues in stone of the celebrities of
all ages, we found that just opposite this bridge is what is
called the Castle of St. Angelo.  An immense pile, circular
in form, on its summit a large monument, and in front a clock of
very large dimensions.  It was erected by the Emperor
Adrian, and intended to be for his own tomb and those of
succeeding kings or emperors.  We did not go inside, but we
p. 42learned it
was fitted and filled with the finest works of art, specially
that in marble finished by the sculptor’s chisel. 
From here we started to drive to our hotel, for we were satiated
with the wonderful sights of Rome.  We passed the Palace of
Justice, a modern building, indeed, only just having the
finishing touches put upon it.  It is of granite, the size
is immense and the appearance noble.  As we passed, churches
and theatres seemed to be numerous.  Gay and grave, sad and
happy, new and old.  There “Beeston Humber Motor
Cycle” advertised.  There the ruins of a building that
had stood for a thousand years.

The Column of Trajan calls for a passing note.  It is a
fine specimen of the Doric order, and very fortunately it is in a
good state of preservation.  On three sides of the pedestal
there are bas-reliefs, on the fourth side is an inscription to
Trajan’s tomb.  On the column are over 20 very fine
carvings, representing the various wars in which he had taken
part.  On the top is a fine statue of the Apostle St.
Peter.  As we stood and looked upon this ancient monument
and thought of the fact that it had stood there for well nigh on
2,000 years, we re-called the words of a poet who represents
fairly the condition of things in Trajan’s day.

p. 43B. E.
H. Plumbtree says:

“Through haughty Rome’s imperial
street
The mighty Trajan rode,
And myrrh and balm and spices sweet
In silver censers glowed;
In car of state erect he stood,
And round him rushing like a flood
The people poured with shout and song,
And every eye through all that throng
Turned to him with delight.
For he had triumphed far and wide,
Had sated Rome’s high-soaring pride,
And, laying captive nations low,
Now dragged the pale and trembling foe
Bent down in sore affright.
And still before him spread afar
New pathways for his conquering car,
More crowns of world-wide fame to win
’Mid shouts of warriors battle din:
One triumph being o’er he spurned
And still his fevered spirit burned
New realms, new worlds to gain.
And still his legions on he led,
Legions that ne’er from foe had fled,
The glory of his reign.”

We left the mighty column standing in its solitary grandeur, a
memorial of man’s achievement, while yet other things
around us testified to the instability of all earthly p. 44things. 
“Change and decay in all around I see.”

We reached our hotel tired and hungry.  We, however, soon
found the value of a good wash, then a good table-de-hote meal,
and then to write up our diaries and think of the day’s
experiences, then to go to rest.  After a good night’s
sleep we rose refreshed.  Had a good wash, then
breakfast.  After letters, postcards, etc., we prepared for
further investigations of the great city.  We went out, but
no sooner did we appear in the great square facing our hotel,
when, I should think, at least a dozen cabmen turned their horses
heads towards us, asking for our patronage.  We could only
hire one, so we had choice and it fell upon a decent looking
man—the very picture of a son of Italy—with a very
good looking horse.  This time we drove to the mound upon
which stands the noble monument to General Garibaldi, the statue
of one of Italy’s noblest heroes and patriots. 
Garibaldi was born at Nice in 1807.  His family were quite
obscure, and without name or fame.  His father had a small
coasting vessel, and to this, probably, is due something of the
adventurous spirit of his son.  When he had attained his
manhood, he went to Genoa and then to Rome.  p. 45Here he
joined a band called “Young Italy,” and as a member
of this band he was indicted for treason and sentenced to
death.

By some means he escaped this sentence and fled to Marseilles
in France.  From here to South America, and here he joined
the army and fought against Brazil.  He became a most
adventurous and daring leader.  In 1848 he returned to Italy
with a view to give himself to the army of Italy.  They,
however, did not receive him with the cordiality he
deserved.  He, however, raised an army of 1,500 brave men,
like-minded with himself, and went against the Austrians, who
were threatening Italy severely and dangerously.  He showed
skill and bravery on the field of battle, and so attracted the
notice of Victor Immanuel, who with his own hand fastened on the
hero’s breast the gold medal for military bravery.  He
became the idol of the nation of Italy, as General Gordon might
be called the hero of the Soudan.  So Garibaldi may be
called the hero of Italy, and as in Gordon’s case, riches,
titles, conventional distinctions were as nothing, so in the case
of this illustrious soldier and hero.  He had the honour of
a seat in the Parliament of Italy in 1875.  The latter part
of his life was spent in retirement, and he died suddenly in the
year 1882.  And here to his memory is erected, in the very
heart of the Eternal City, a splendid p. 46monument.  His life-sized figure
in bronze on a fine charger, while around the monument are
bas-reliefs of great interest.  From this high elevation we
had a good view of the city and of the river Tiber, which is
about equal to our river Trent for width, it is spanned in
several places by bridges.  Here we could look down the
Appian Way.  It would not be difficult, standing here, to
imagine just away at yonder port, some ten or twelve miles away,
a shipwrecked crew has landed its cargo of grain; also some
soldiers with three prisoners, amongst them is Paul, the great
apostle to the Gentiles.  He is chained to a soldier; they
come along the Appian Way, where we are just looking—a road
that had often rung with the plaudits to the victors in many a
hard fought fight.  A strange sight to see this poor man,
without money, friends, or influence.  Yet he was the true
conqueror of Rome.  He said truly “God hath chosen the
foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath
chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things that
are mighty.”  Cor., chapter I, verse 27.  St.
Paul says again: “And so we went towards Rome, and from
thence, when the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as
far as Appii forum, and the three taverns: whom when Paul saw, he
thanked God, and p.
47took courage.”  Acts, chapter 28, verses 14
& 15.  Paul is allowed to speak for himself, having
appealed to Cæsar.  “And Paul dwelt two whole
years in his own hired house, and received all that came to him,
preaching the Kingdom of God, and teaching those things which
concern the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Up this Way, it is likely, Titus brought up the spoils he had
taken in his overthrow of the City of Jerusalem.  The spoils
consisted of the “Ark of the Covenant,” overlaid
round about with gold, the golden pot that had manna, “and
Aaron’s rod that budded.”  Heb., chapter 9,
verse 4.  From this vantage ground we could see Rome, regal
Rome, republican Rome, and in the distance St. Peter’s and
the Vatican, and many hundreds of other churches and prominent
buildings which hold the records of ecclesiastical Rome.

We visited, of course, the grand church or cathedral of St.
Peter.  This is the one thing we must see.  This
is the goal of millions of pious pilgrims from all lands, and at
all seasons.  I noticed in our illustrated papers of about
November, 1908, the Pope had been celebrating his fifty years of
priesthood, there was a great procession of thirty-six Cardinals,
four hundred Bishops, fifty thousand spectators, and St.
Peter’s offerings were asked for by His Holiness for
chalices for the poorer p. 48churches.  The Duchess of
Norfolk presented £500 as a response.  The Pope was
carried shoulder high in the Sedia Gestoria, over the heads of
the vast masses, and as he was borne aloft, he bestowed his
blessings on all sides, and amongst all classes of people. 
Passing over or through the vast throng he was placed on his
golden throne, whence he grants his indulgences and extends to
his flock sympathy and prayers.

When we got within sight of the noble building we were
constrained to stand still and look and let our thoughts and
feelings have full play, for just then they were of a very mixed
character, as we thought of Rome and its history, of this
building and its surroundings, and what it meant.  At the
entrance we could see right through the large Piazza or Square,
in the centre of which is an obelisk, I think Egyptian in
character.  On either side are fountains throwing their
sparkling waters from almost innumerable jets.  Then there
are colonnades also, and 284 columns, each column is about
40-feet high, and on the column a statue about 16-feet high,
these give an idea of the vastness of the building beyond. 
The obelisk in St. Peter’s Square weighs 3,270
tons—it is said that the ship that brought it from Egypt
was so large that the Emperor Claudius had it sunk at the p. 49mouth of the
Tiber to serve as part of the foundations for the outward wall of
the Port of Ostia, in the year 39 A.D.

It was left until the year 1566 before orders were given by
Pope Sextus to have it placed in this square.  At the top of
this great obelisk is a cross which is said to be a part of the
real cross on which our Lord and Saviour was crucified. 
Passing this outward display of grandeur in the shape of
statuary, columns and colonnades, we reached the steps leading up
to the vestibule, these are massive marble steps, with colossal
statues of St. Peter and St. Paul at the foot.  It is said
that this is the largest and the most costly church in the
world.  It was built on the site of the Emperor Nero’s
circus, which was the scene of the most terrible martyrdoms, and
it is also said to be the place where St. Peter was buried after
his crucifixion.  About the year 106 A.D., history tells us there was a
monument erected here to mark the site of St. Peter’s
tomb.  Earlier a basilica was founded on this spot, which
stood for over one thousand years, then showing signs of decay
(and one cannot wonder at it).  Nicholas V., in 1447,
decided to erect one larger and better in its place.

p.
50CHAPTER VI.

Rome continued: St. Peter’s building:
St. Peter’s Statue: St. Peter’s resting place: The
vast Columns, Pictures, Fonts, Confessionals, etc.: The Vatican:
The Professional Letter Writer: The Arch of Titus: Statue of
Nero, etc.

This decision, however, he never carried out, but in the year
1506, Julian II. laid the foundation of this vast church we are
now about to enter.  The first architect died while the work
was in its early stages.  Then Raphael, with two other
architects, were appointed, and these also died during the
building.  Michael Angelo, who was then between seventy and
eighty years of age, was selected to superintend the work. 
He is credited with the designing of that marvellous dome and
cross, but did not live to see it completed.  Indeed, not
less than fifteen architects succeeded one another during the
time of its building, and twenty-eight Popes reigned before it
was completed (a time of 176 years).  Its actual completion
was not until 1784, a term of 278 years.

Carlo Fountana estimates the cost at p.
51£11,000,000.  He states that it required
400,000 lbs. of bronze to form the statue of St. Peter inside the
cathedral.  The whole area is 240,000 square feet; when this
is stated one may form some faint idea of the magnitude of the
building.  There are within and without the building columns
in marble to the number of 756; 245 are inside.  There are
46 altars and 121 lamps, most of them are kept burning night and
day.  One hundred and thirty-two Popes have been buried
here, if you count as they do from St. Peter on to the last Pope
who passed away.  It is stated that the cost of keeping the
place in repair is over £6,000 per year.  Our first
view of the Nave as we entered, created such a feeling of awe and
reverence, that like the Queen of Sheba, of whom it is said,
“when she saw the glory of Solomon there was no more spirit
in her.”  “And behold the half was not told
me.”  I. Kings, chapter 10, verses 5 and 7.  I
gazed with awe and admiration at one time on the marvellous
Niagara Falls, and the sight seemed to bring me into the very
presence of the great Creator, God.  And now, to gaze upon
works of such a colossal magnitude and of such a costly
character, made us feel subdued and reverent.  I may safely
assume, I think, that every one will not see it just as we saw
it; I mean they p.
52will interpret its meaning differently.  We were
some time before we came to realize the fact that it was of such
extraordinary proportions.  Looking at the cherubs which
support the fonts that contain holy water, at first you think
they are models of children, but when you come beside them you
find they are much larger than ordinary grown-up people.  On
the floor we noticed there are stars or marks telling the length
of the building as compared with other large cathedrals. 
St. Paul’s in London, is here given as 516-feet long, the
Cathedral in Milan as 440-feet, the Cathedral in Florence is
given as 495-feet, St. Peter’s, at Bologna, 440-feet, and
St. Sophia, at Constantinople, 364-feet, while this St.
Peter’s is 619-feet in length.  On your right hand
passing up the nave is the gigantic statue of St. Peter in
bronze, which, with the foot held out slightly, I suppose
millions of visitors from all nations and peoples and tongues
have stooped to kiss the large toe, which, in consequence, is
worn seriously out of shape.  Some have gone so far as to
say that this is the statue of Jupiter, only it has been slightly
altered to suit its present purpose.  I think it is Dean
Swift who said (in a joke) “that the difference between the
ancient and modern Rome was, that the one was the worshipper of
Jupiter, and the other the worshipper of p. 53Jew
Peter.”  As we stood beside this image in bronze and
looked to the right—the confessional to the left—the
confessional.  Visitors in kneeling posture before an image
of the Virgin, another before a picture.  Another walks up
to the font and crosses his forehead with holy water, we felt
that we could not but pity these poor deluded souls in bondage to
a priestly intolerance, when they might have had the real liberty
of the children of God.

Above this great statue of St. Peter, sitting in a chair of
marble, in the act of blessing the people, is a portrait in
mosaic of Pope Pius IX., and an inscription which states that he
is the only Pope whose years of pontificate are more than were
those of St. Peter.  In the niches around the pillars which
support the cupola are some very fine specimens of statuary, and
above these are several small galleries which contain the Holy
Relics, these are shown to the public on the great festive
days.  There are sixteen windows round the cupola, and over
these are sixteen richly gilded pillars, between each of these
are beautiful mosaics representing Popes and Bishops buried in
the church, also of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, and the
Apostles.  Over the High Altar under the cupola, where the
Pope alone has the right to say Mass, rises a very costly canopy
of p. 54bronze,
supported by four spiral columns of richly gilded bronze about
60-feet high, including the cross.  The Altar is placed in
such a position that the Pope saying Mass, faces the
people.  Under the Altar is St. Peter’s tomb; a double
flight of steps of Greek marble lead down to it, and at the
bottom is a statue of one of the Popes kneeling; at the sides are
four large columns of alabaster, and above these are two pillars
of agate with the statues of St. Peter and St. Paul.  The
place in which St. Peter’s ashes rest, and that forms part
of the oratory, is covered with the most costly marble. 
When Peter said “silver and gold have I none,” Acts.
chapter 3, verse 6, he could not have had the least idea of the
costliness of his resting place in Rome.

All things seem to be provided for the purpose of a worship
meant to captivate the senses by its external splendour and
beauty, until the very object of religion, the cultivation of the
Christian virtues, which are meekness and humility, are forgotten
in the magnificence of a priesthood of princes, combining their
splendour and luxuries with their duties.  On all sides we
see monuments to Popes and Bishops; such as one to Pope Innocent
XII., with fine bas-reliefs in marble.  The Pope
Gregory’s monument which has some fine sculpture on it in
marble.  Another wing of p. 55this huge building designed by
Michael Angelo contains an altar enriched with alabaster,
amethyst, and other precious stones.  Over the altar is an
image of the Madonna that is greatly venerated, as it is supposed
to have been brought here from one of the early churches. 
Altars, crosses, and confessionals confront you wherever you go
in this great cathedral; also, pictures adorn the walls where
there is no sculpture.  St. Peter raising Tabitha from the
dead.  See Acts, chapter 9, verse 40.  “But Peter
put them all forth and kneeling down prayed; and turning to the
body, said, ‘Tabitha, arise,’ and she opened her
eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up.”

Two porphry steps lead to the Tribune, about fifty yards long,
where there is another altar, and over it four colossal bronze
statues; on the right, the tomb of Urban VIII., on the left, that
of Paul III.  In one of the wings of this building there are
eleven confessionals for strangers, and inscriptions indicating
the nationality or language.  On all sides we saw these
relics of popery until we were sick of it.  We could not
visit the grottos, as time did not permit, we were very desirous
of making a visit to the Vatican, but we could not for the same
reason.  We gathered from information gained in various
ways, that the Vatican or Pope’s Palace is p. 56the largest
palace in the world.  The Pope is allowed from Italy about
£130,000 per annum, and the Peter’s pence, from many
lands, amounts to as much as £20,000 per annum.  The
Vatican contains 11,000 rooms, there are also 22 court
yards.  The ground it covers is the size of a town. 
The museums, the picture galleries, the statues in marble, are
worth many millions of pounds.  It is enriched with bronzes,
marble columns, and the best things that can be had from all
lands.  Paintings of the very richest and highest class from
all the old masters.  Massive gold and silver goblets, the
gifts of kings and of princes.  Ancient relics from Assyria
and from Egypt.  Some Egyptian mummies in sarcophagi with
hieroglyphics, indicating the locality from whence they
came.  In the library are 26,000 manuscripts, about 19,000
are in Latin, 4,000 in Greek, and about 2,000 in the Eastern and
Oriental languages, besides about 50,000 printed volumes. 
In one of the halls there is a bible of the fifth century, which
is a great rarity.  The gifts from kings, emperors, princes,
presidents of almost all lands, which have been sent to the Pope
are too many to name or specify.  We left St. Peter’s,
pleased with some things, grieved with others.  The
greatness of Rome’s intellectual power; her art in
sculpture and painting; proofs of this p. 57we saw on all hands.  She had,
at one time, over 400 temples, most of them with floors of
marble, great domes with wonderful frescoes, gorgeous beyond
anything we could conceive if we had not seen it.  Walls of
marble, porphyry, jasper, precious stones, stones polished till
they shine like a mirror.  Pictures, priceless and
innumerable.  All this, side by side with the degradation of
the people, as seen in their daily visit to the confessional; or
to the holy water; or to seek a mass from the priest for some
friend in sickness; or a more important one for the soul of some
brother, sister, or friend in the agony of purgatory, and who
must remain there until certain masses are said.  All this
means the lowering of the poor to the enriching of the
rich.  Rome, I say, is to be pitied in this thing, under the
heel of the Pope.  Her wealth is lavished on churches,
priests, cardinals, etc., but her poor abound on all hands. 
At the very church door you have the extremes of lavish wealth in
church decoration, and extreme poverty in many worshippers. 
We had a view of the Vatican from without; it seems one vast area
of palaces, churches, temples, galleries, colonnades, etc. 
I suppose we have some fine palaces in England; there are some, I
believe, in France, Germany, in Egypt; but nowhere in the world
is there a palace so large p. 58and costly as the Pope’s Palace
in Rome.  How unlike his divine Lord, “who had not
where to lay His Head,” or his predecessor (allowing the
expression) who said, “silver and gold have I
none.”  Mark Twain says of the place: “It is a
perfect wilderness of statues, paintings, and curiosities of
every description and every age.  The old masters fairly
swarm there.  I shall remember the Transfiguration, by
Raphael, because it was in a room by itself, and partly because
it is acknowledged by all to be the first oil painting in the
world.  It is fine in tone and feeling, it is a beauty, it
is fascinating.  Acres and acres of walls and ceilings
fairly papered with them.  There is one thing I am certain
of, with all the Michael Angelo’s, the Raphael’s, the
Guido’s, and the old masters, the sublime history of Rome
remains unpainted!  They painted Virgins enough, Popes
enough, and saintly scarecrows enough to people Paradise
almost.”

Leaving the great St. Peter’s and the Vatican to return
to our hotel for dinner, we noticed the mixed crowds jostling one
another in the streets.  The men seemed to be broad
shouldered, and their rugged bronze faces and dark piercing eyes
give you an idea that they look upon you with curiosity. 
Men dressed in home-spun blue cloth as a rule.  The p. 59women dress
in colours, no unusual thing to see them apparently enjoying a
feed of raw onions and salad with a good square piece of black
bread.  Here we passed a professional letter writer, sitting
in the open-air in the street with a table before him on which
are pens, ink and paper.  Here he is ready to read or write
letters for the unlearned, and they are by no means few in the
city of Rome.  Many a declaration of passionate love must
have been whispered into the ear of this old Italian, to be
transmitted to some village maiden on the mountain heights, or in
some sequestered village.  A rustic approaches the old
scribe as we watch him, he has received an epistle from some
Italian beauty far away.  As he waits his turn he looks over
the precious documents with wandering eyes.  Oh! if only he
could himself spell out its sacred contents.  His cheeks are
flushed, his heart throbs as he hands the paper to the scribe;
and, as the old man reads, the smile plays upon his face, his
dark eyes brighten with delight.  Yes! she is true to the
boy who is far away, what a joy to know their hearts beat in
unison and in passionate love.  What a strange task! that of
the Italian scribe.  Sometimes his task is to read letters
that tell of separations by death; the scalding tear, the heart
throbs, tell of grief and anguish, a life’s hope crushed p. 60out.  A
dear mother, sister or lover passed away.  All these
experiences go through the old scribe’s hands daily. 
Young Italy, however, is awaking to her need as a nation, for
education and for the training of the young.

Our hotel is our home of rest, and we certainly enjoyed it
after hours of travel and inspection.  Sights seen that we
had never dreamed of.  Pictures, sculpture, arch, column,
colonnades, so profuse and so attractive that we forgot we were
tired until we turned away for a break and a rest.

Again, we are on the tram, and down one of the principal
boulevards, past shops, bazaars, cafes, hotels and churches, to
the Pont du Angelo, over the Tiber.  This is a lovely piece
of workmanship, built of solid masonry, and on the pont, or
bridge, there are six statues on each side on pedestals,
representing the various architects, sculptors and painters of
ancient Rome, and as we crossed the bridge, right in front of us
we saw the castle of St. Angelo, erected by one of the Emperors
for his own tomb, and for the tombs of his successors.  As
most of the important buildings in Rome, it is lavishly decorated
with marble sculpture, more fitted for a palace than for a
mausoleum. 


In the tenth century it was turned into a fortress and fell
into the hands of the p. 61barons, who, during a long time, made
use of it against the city itself.  It is said that Clement
VII. took refuge in it in the year 1527.  To-day it is a
beautiful temple.  The floor is very largely composed of
Italian marble; on the staircase, on our right on entering, is a
fine statue of Michael the arch-angel, in a niche.  In
another room are some fine paintings by Pierin; another room
still retains some of the implements of torture of the
Inquisition.  On the top stands the bronze statue of the
arch-angel Michael, placed there in 1770; it is said it is placed
there in memory of a vision of St. Gregory the Great. 
According to tradition, when Rome was severely visited by a
pestilence, and while the Pope was going in procession to St.
Peter’s, to obtain the cessation of the scourge, he saw, on
arriving at this bridge, an angel on the top of the mausoleum, in
the act of replacing his sword in its sheath, as a sign that the
visitation of the scourge was at an end.  On account of this
the castle was named “The Castle of the Holy
Angel.”  “The Arch of Titus” is another
fine specimen of the builders’ art.  Erected to him by
the people in homage of his great victory in Palestine over the
Hebrews, and of the destruction of the Holy City of Jerusalem, in
the year 79 A.D., and consecrated
to his memory by his successor in the year 81 A.D.  p. 62It has somewhat suffered by the ages
that have passed over it; still, it is marvellous that it has so
long withstood the ravages of the iron tooth of time.  There
is a fine frieze in the inside and some fine bas-reliefs. 
One, that of the Hebrew prisoners, and Titus’ triumphal
march to Rome.  In Macaulay’s we find the following
verses, evidently written on the subject of Titus’
victory:

“Valerius struck at Titus and lopped off
half his crest,
But Titus stabbed Valerius, a span deep in his breast.
Like a mast snapped by the tempest, Valerius reeled and fell.
Ah! woe is me for the good house that loves the people well!
Then shouted loud the Latins, and with one rush they bore
The struggling Romans backward, three lances length or more:

And up they took proud Tarquin, and laid him on the shield,
And four strong yeomen bore him, still senseless from the
field.
But fiercer grew the fighting around Valerius dead,
For Titus dragged him by the foot, and Anlus by the head.
p. 63Twice
tenfold round the body the roar of battle rose
Like the roar of a burning forest, when a strong north wind
blows.

Now backward and now forward, rocked furiously the fray,
Till none could see Valerius, and none knew where he lay.
For shivered arms and ensigns were heaped there in a mound,
And corpses stiff, and dying men, that writhed upon the
ground,
And wounded horses kicking, and snorting purple foam,
Right well did such a couch befit a Consular of Rome.”

There are also, in this palace, the seven-branched
candlesticks, and many other objects taken from the Temple of the
Holy City.

Next we saw the triumphal arch of Constantine (the first
Christian Emperor of Rome), this seems to be the best preserved
of all the arches we saw, although now it has been standing since
311 A.D.  We learned it was
erected by the people of Rome in honour of the great victory
achieved over Maxentius at Ponte Mollo.  The central arcade
is about thirty-feet high, the side ones are about
twenty-feet.  There are four beautiful columns p. 64of Corinthian
marble which support the pillars upon which stand some fine
statuary representing some of the “Dacian prisoners,”
“Trajan’s entry into Rome after his victory in the
east,” “The rest on the Appian Way,”
“Trajan bringing help and succour to the poor
children,” “Trajan speaking to his
soldiers.”  Under these are bas-reliefs which
represent hunts and sacrifices.  On the opposite side of the
street we noticed a large pedestal which we were told held, in
ancient times, a colossal statue of Nero, executed in
bronze.  After his death it was thrown down and replaced by
another called “The god of the sun.”  This,
however, has been allowed to fall into decay; the iron tooth of
time has done its work, and only the pedestal remains.

The Navona Square or Piazza calls for a remark or two, it is
the next largest to St. Peter’s.  There are three fine
fountains in the square, These seem to be of a modern design and
workmanship.  One represents Neptune coping with a sea
monster, surrounded by sea horses.  In the basin rises a
kind of rock; on the four sides of which are representations of
“The Danube,” for Europe; “The Ganges,”
for Asia; “The Nile,” for Africa; and the “Rio
de la Plata,” for America.  The rock is surmounted by
a very neatly-cut obelisk.  The first and largest fountain
is about 100-feet p.
65high, and when in play has a very beautiful
effect.  The Church of St. Mary is but a plain looking
building from the outside.  We approached with little
interest, but when we got inside we found it to be a perfect
museum of painting and sculpture; also, there are many tombs of
celebrated cardinals.  The guide showed us a picture said to
be the work of St. Luke, and in all seriousness, told us it was
supposed to have the power to work miracles still.  We did
not stay to ask whether that power was ever evoked.  There
is a chapel inside, the architecture of which was planned by
Raphael.  The design of big mosaics on the vault of the dome
is simply marvellous.  There is a representation of the
heavenly bodies in their fullest splendour; also a fine statue of
Jonah by Raphael.  There is attached to this church a
monastery, in which reside the monks of the Order of St.
Augustine.  It is said to have been the residence of the
famous Martin Luther, during his visit to Rome.  He entered
the city through the Porto del Popolo, and knelt down as soon as
he had passed the gate, crying most sincerely, “I salute
thee, Oh! holy Rome!—Rome, venerable through the blood and
the tombs of the martyrs.”  And then he went
straightway to the convent, and there he celebrated mass. 
And after the experiences he went p. 66through during his stay in the city,
what he had seen, and what he had heard—he said, on passing
again through the same gate out, with bitterness and grief,
“Adieu, Oh! City, where everything is permitted, but to be
a good man.”  Every place we visited brought some
reminders of the sad fall of the papacy from real
Christianity.

To the Berbine picture gallery, was a visit which gave us much
pleasure, as we saw pictures from the ablest of artists. 
The paintings by Michael Angelo and Raphael, Francesco and
Tiziano.  “Adam and Eve driven from Paradise,”
by Guido Reni; “Christ and the Doctors of the
Church,” by Dürer; “The Holy Family,” by
Andrea; “The Annunciation,” by Bronzine; and many
others that we considered marvels of the artists’
brush.  There is also within this gallery a very large room
as a library in which, we learned, there are over 30,000 books in
print, and over 8,000 in manuscript, by Dante, Galileo, Lasso and
others.  The wonders of these places filled us with such
admiration, we could stay and look until quite weary, so we take
tram to hotel again for rest.

p.
67CHAPTER VII.

The Church of the Trinity: St. Maria: Church
of Onesemus: The Grand Corso: The British and Foreign Bible
Society: Outside view of the Quirinal: Nero’s House:
Leaving Rome: Scene at a wayside station: Arrival at Florence:
Visit to the Cathedral.

The wonderful Church called the Church of the Trinity, up a
very broad staircase of some 330 steps; then a very fine piazza
or square, and an obelisk, at the top of which they say is a
piece of the cross on which St. Peter suffered martyrdom. 
In this square we found artists’ models waiting to be
engaged.  Some of them very pretty Italian peasant girls
fresh from mountain homes, in costumes quaint and queer; old men
with white beards and capacious cloaks; shepherd boys from the
Campagna; bag-pipers from Abruzzi; also mendicants of more than
one nationality; also vendors of wares of various kinds,
principally small brooches, photo frames and pins, with nic-nacs
that were considered to be attractive.  A scene of very
great interest to the Britisher.  We left here to have a
stroll in the streets, to watch with p. 68interest the customs and habits of
the people.  Hotels almost without number; beer-houses, only
a few; cafes, many; confectioners, many; chemists and doctors,
fairly numerous; dentists, several at any rate; restaurants,
many, and some on a very large scale; telephone call offices;
lavatories; specialities, as jewellers who sell Roman pearls,
mosaics, religious ornaments, bronzes, marble, etc.; porters
standing in various places to give you a hand with a parcel;
omnibuses running to the station from all parts of the city;
carriages for hire at about eightpence per mile, English
money.  So we passed an hour in watching the ever changing
street scenes, until tired, then to our hotel and to rest once
more.  Returning to our further inspection of churches,
museums, and places of interest, we went to see the old St.
Maria.  This is a very interesting place, and is said to be
built upon the site of what was Paul’s “own hired
house in which he dwelt for two whole years,” see Acts, ch.
28, v. 30.  It is said that on this spot, Onesimus, the
runaway slave, was converted, and that he received the gifts sent
by the Philippians and the Colossians, by Epaphroditus, which he
so thankfully acknowledges.  Philippians., chapter 4, verse
18.  “I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the
things which were sent from you, an p. 69odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice
acceptable, well-pleasing to God.”  Three rooms in the
basement of the church are shown as the very rooms in which St.
Paul and St. Luke taught and wrote.  Col., chapter 4, verse
14.

Leaving this place we enter the Corso, the principal street of
the city.  To our surprise and delight we saw a depot of the
British and Foreign Bible Society; the window full of Italian
copies of the scriptures spread open, some showing clearly one
passage, and some another; so that he who runs can read.  We
found we could buy the New Testament for threepence in English
money.  A separate gospel for less than one penny.  It
is not many years since when this would not have been allowed in
Rome or in Italy.  Before the Pope’s power was broken,
I mean his temporal power, he did not allow a circulation of the
Bible, nor did he allow a public assembly of heretics
(Christians) within the city.  Now, thank God, there are
numerous Protestant Churches in the city.  The Wesleyans
have one or more churches.  The Americans, the Lutheran, the
Greek, the English church and others are now allowed the
privileges not long since denied to them.  We had the
pleasure of an outside view of the Quirinal, the present
residence of the King of Italy in Rome.  It was at one time
the residence of p.
70the Pope.  It is an old building, 1574 is the
date.  It is said the Popes prepared this residence because
the air was so fresh, and the neighbourhood so healthy. 
While the King is in Rome the Quirinal palace is not open to
visitors.  The gardens are on an extensive scale. 
Within the palace are sculpture, museums, library, paintings by
Raphael, Michael Angelo and Luigi Serra.  Some of the
subjects are simply masterpieces.  We went from the Quirinal
to the Baths of Titus, erected by the Emperor of that name, it is
said upon the same place where once stood the house of
Nero.  The excavators in 1811 laid bare many interesting
facts concerning the times of Titus, about the year 80 A.D.  Only a semicircle can be seen
showing the foundations, yet it seems to be clear that these are
the only remains of the baths referred to.  We left here
feeling we were satiated with sight seeing, and our time for
leaving Rome was near at hand, so we determined upon a few
purchases.  Then to our hotel to reflect, to think, to
recall, if possible, to memory what we had seen and heard. 
To fill up our diary, to settle our hotel accounts, and to get
ready to leave the “Eternal City.”  We reviewed
in our mind at leisure, where we had been, and what we had seen
in Rome.  And we read up history which tells us in the p. 71palmy days of
Rome, there would be within the city over 400 temples, and over
17,000 palaces, over 13,000 fountains, more than 30 theatres, 8
amphitheatres, 11 baths, some of which would accommodate some
1,500 bathers at once, 80 gilt statues, and over 3,700 bronze
statues, 82 statues of figures on horseback, so we think of Rome
in her imperial pride, when luxury lay on the lap of so many of
her nobles.  Since then she has been humbled to the
dust.  Many of these costly buildings and statuary are in
ruins, but there is enough left to show her once illustrious
position.

We had certainly made the best of the time at our disposal, so
we leave thee, Oh! Rome! the great, the illustrious. 
“It may be for years, or it may be for ever.” 
We said good-bye, and soon we were en route for Florence. 
The scenery for some distance is not particularly
attractive.  The usual Italian villages, in some cases just
a cottage or two, the tenants of which are out with their ox and
plough, or a pair of donkeys and a rickety old cart, or the man
is draining his farm.  We saw about eight or ten women at a
large stone trough by the side of a highway washing.  It
seems this is their custom, for the women of several families to
have a joint washday, and go to the nearest clean flowing
water.

p. 72As we
proceeded northward, we noticed the country became more
undulating and richer in fruits and flowers.  The season for
the grapes being ripe was just on, and we noticed as we
journeyed, on all sides, grape vines; there seemed to be miles of
them, and still, as we hurried along, more vineyards.  Oxen
in wagons in the rows of vines, were being loaded with the
luscious fruit.  Six white oxen in each wagon mostly. 
The husband, wife and children, all seemed to be engaged in
plucking and loading the fruit.  We passed scores of miles
of vineyards of this sort.  We stopped at a station called
Cartona.  I saw a typical Italian girl with a grape stall on
the platform.  I alighted and selected two large bunches of
beautiful ripe grapes, and as I could not ask the price, not
speaking Italian, I held out my hand with a number of coins of
various value for her to take the cost of the grapes.  She
selected twenty centimes, that is about twopence in English
money; so very cheap are grapes.  The country is a lovely
country and rich beyond compare.  Our train, we could
perceive at times, was climbing, so slow was the speed, but as we
got higher the scene became more lovely; the Italian lakes in the
distance; the towns with the usual Duomo or Church always
noticeable.

p. 73At
every road crossing we noticed an Italian woman, usually aged,
sat at the gate crossing, with horn in hand ready to give warning
of an approaching train.  About four o’clock in the
afternoon we came in sight of Florence.  The first view was
entrancing.  The city lies in a hollow, the surrounding
hillsides are, here and there, dotted over with castles and
mansions, each in their own lovely and extensive grounds. 
They were mostly of white marble.  The river Arno runs
through the city.  Florence is essentially a city of
flowers, as its name indicates.  All around for miles
castles, mansions, villas, gardens and shady nooks fill the soul
with a consciousness that Nature here has bestowed her gifts of
beauty in no stinted degree.  Florence has been called, and
I think very aptly, the Athens of Italy.  This city
possesses the memories of some of the world’s greatest men,
“the priceless heirlooms of a glorious past.” 
Here the peerless bard, “Dante” sang his deathless
song and made his lovely Beatrice immortal.  Was it not from
these very hills and fields on which we were gazing, that Galileo
every night scanned the heavens to compel the distant orbs to
reveal their secrets?

Here we see her peerless domes and towers rise in all their
stately grandeur beneath a lovely Italian sky.  We are now
at the station.  Alighting, we soon found the ’bus p. 74for
“Hotel Minerva” (this we had selected before hand) so
were soon once more settled for a little while.  Our hotel
was very comfortable, and we found mine host most gracious, and
evidently most desirous to satisfy us, and so keep our patronage
as long as possible.  The rooms were lofty and furnished
with taste, dinner served in good style, which included
everything we could wish for.  A look round the city for a
little while, was our first thought, so out we went into the
great open square, facing which is the Duomo or Cathedral Maria
del Fiore, so called from the lily which figures in the arms of
Florence.  This vast pile of buildings was begun in the year
1298, and finished in the year 1462.  It is stated it was
built on the foundations of an earlier church.  It is a
grand example of the Gothic art.  The length of the building
is 185 yards, and its width, 114 yards.  The dome is 300
feet high, and with the lantern 352 feet.  On the 8th of
September, 1298, a representative of Pope Boniface VIII. blessed
the foundations of this new grand temple in the presence of the
“Gonfaloniere Borgo,” many bishops, “the
chapter,” all the Florentine clergy, the captains of the
arts, and the magnificent and sublime “Signori of the
Republic,” as they were called.  The words with which
the community gave charge of this sumptuous p. 75building
were, literally translated, “to make it so magnificent and
so sublime that it would be impossible that it should be
surpassed.”  And it seemed to us that for size and
strength and adornments, few can compare with it.  Many
vicissitudes occurred during the building—wars, deaths of
architects, etc.—till in the year 1492 it was something
like a completed building.  In April, 1860, King Victor
Emmanuel laid the foundation of a new facade, which was to
replace one taken away, as the design was considered
unsuitable.  Above the south door is a Madonna between two
angels.  Inside we were struck with its massiveness, more
than with its decorations.  On the right there is a fine
equestrian statue of John Hawkswood, of date 1384, an English
soldier of fortune, who had served the Republic with unswerving
fidelity.  Over the portico is a fine picture of the Virgin
Mary in mosaic.  On the right side are some fine marble
figures of great men of ancient dates.  In the east nave are
fine statues of St. John and St. Peter; a fine stained-glass
window with most attractive and telling designs.  Inside the
great dome is a very peculiar, very grotesque frieze, by a great
painter named Vasari, depicting the flames of hell and awful
monsters around them.  Also the heaven of delight and
bliss.

p. 76Near
the Cathedral is the wonderful Campagna or tower, which visitors
through centuries have visited and admired.  A distinguished
visitor once said, “The Florentines should enclose this
tower in a glass case, and only let it be on exhibition during
the great festivals.”  It is solid and strong, though
it rises to the height of 292 feet.  It has four stories,
the lower ones are richly fixed with variegated marble, and
covered almost with statues of illustrious men.  A view of
this tower from a distance is very fine.  We had seen
nothing like it before in all our travels on the continent.

p.
77CHAPTER VIII.

Florence: Michael Angelo’s House:
Baptistry of St. John: The Uffizi Gallery: The Tribune: A drive
to the suburbs: Dante’s House: Dante’s Poems: The
Gardens: Mrs. Browning’s description of Vallambrosa:
Michael Angelo’s work: Galileo, his trial, etc.

As we had little time for visiting other places of interest,
the day being now far advanced, we determined to give our minds
and bodies a rest.  So we entered a cafe for refreshment, we
found them exceedingly clean and most obliging; we took what
refreshment we needed, then went for a stroll on the streets to
see the shops, and we found the city has some fine streets and
shops of almost every kind.  The city has a population of
about 200,000.  We were reminded frequently of some of the
worthies of the city in sculpture or in painting.  Michael
Angelo, though not born in Florence, spent a great deal of his
life here, and here some of his finest works were completed, and
in Florence he died and was buried.  At the corner of the
Via Buonarotti stands the house in which he lived.  It is
now (like the house p.
78of the immortal Shakespeare) a museum given to the
city.

“Farewell,” said Michael Angelo, on setting out
for where he was to undertake the finishing of the great St.
Peter’s, in Rome.  “Farewell, I go to try to
make thy sister, but I cannot hope to make thy equal.”

About the old Baptistry of St. John, to which, we are told,
all the children of the city are taken to be christened, there
are two bronze gates at which a famous workman was employed forty
years.  Michael Angelo declared “these gates were
worthy to be the gates of Paradise.”

I believe there is a cast of these gates exhibited at the
South Kensington Museum.

The Uffizi Gallery or museum or both, where I should think may
be found the most p.
79wonderful collection of art to be found in the
world.  Even in Rome we had seen nothing to equal it. 
It contains over 13,000 paintings.  Cameos and original
designs without number.  There are long corridors where
statues of celebrated Tuscans fill the niches.  There is
sculptured marble, or painted canvas, of all imaginable beings in
heaven or on earth.  Emperors and kings, saintly Madonnas,
angels, gods and goddesses, muses and nymphs; all may be found in
this marvellous collection.  And on the ceiling are frescoes
setting forth the annals of Florence.  In one of the halls
stands a painting of Niobe with her sons and daughters clinging
around her, victims of the cruel vengeance of Diana and
Apollo.  In another room are some angels surrounding a
Madonna, making a lovely picture.  There is a gallery in
which are paintings of the painters of all nations, painted by
themselves.  Vandyck, with his clear blue eye, long hair and
fair countenance; Raphael, looking sad and gentle and very
sallow; Michael Angelo, simple yet sublime, he is in his dressing
gown.  We were simply surrounded and bewildered by the
fascinating sights on every hand.  There are cabinets also,
containing rare gems, cameos and bronzes of all sizes and
shapes.  The Tribune also demands notice, as it contains
vast masses of valuable treasures.  p. 80One room is
paved with the most costly marble.  There are five
masterpieces of antiquity.  In the centre stands the Venus
de Medicis, serene, pure, delicate, and perfectly lovely;
another, the Dancing Fawn; another, “Apollino,”
“The Wrestlers,” and the “Grinder.” 
There is also here, one of the finest and best of Raphael’s
paintings, “The Glorious Madonna.”  Two others
by Titian.  We soon became exhausted and weary, so we left
the entrancing scenes for another day.  To our hotel was but
the work of ten minutes; safely housed.  Table-de-hote
dinner, to write up our diaries, to commend our lives and our
loved ones to the care of our Heavenly Father, we slept. 
During the night there was a severe thunder storm, the lightning
played round our hotel, lighting up the great square in front,
but so far as we know, no damage was done.  We rose in
health, refreshed and ready for a good breakfast; this, the
Italians know how to provide.  Their coffee is the best I
have ever tasted.  Fish, eggs, cold meats and fruits in
abundance.  We made a fine breakfast, and after writing some
letters and post cards we ventured out, this time for a drive to
the suburbs.  I soon found carriage and driver and made
terms.

Before starting, however, I took a snapshot of my wife in the
carriage, with the archway or part of the p. 81facade of the
Duomo for background.  We passed through the principal parts
of the city, and our driver pointed out the house, still
standing, where Dante, the greatest of all the great poets of
Italy, was born.  It is very near to the church of Santa
Croce, a very old building, but in its vicinity lies the dust of
some of Italy’s noblest sons.  Near here in the year
1865, on the 5th day of May, a vast concourse of people assembled
to see the unveiling of a statue of Dante.  It is 19 feet in
height, and it is mounted on a pedestal 23 feet in height. 
This was the six hundredth anniversary of the poet’s
birthday.  Dante was not buried here, but at Ravenna, where
he died in exile away from the city he loved so much.  In
the “Sheep-fold of St. John” as he called it. 
His life was full of strange vicissitudes, apparently more of
cloud and storm than of sunshine.  His father was in the
legal profession, and this, Dante adopted, and studied very
successfully at several schools in Italy and Germany.  At an
early age he fell madly in love with one, Beatrice, but she
married another man, and left him with a great sore in his
heart.  He was called to bear arms against Ariezo and Pisa,
where he served with great assiduity.  He afterwards
married, but not happily, at the age of 28.  He had a
family, however, and his first-born p. 82being a girl, he called her Beatrice,
after his first love.  A civil war had been brewing for some
time.  Again Dante took the field, this time, unfortunately,
on the weaker side, and a revolutionary government being formed,
he, with other ringleaders who wished to resist the extreme
pretensions of the Pope, were sentenced to be burned alive. 
He, however, managed to escape into Germany, where he wandered
about from place to place, finding no settled residence, and
desiring to return to his native city, but this was denied
him.  He died, as we have seen, in Ravenna.  His
daughter Beatrice was a nun in one of the convents, but to do
some tardy justice to the noble bard, a sum of money was raised
for her own special use.  I can hardly leave this
interesting subject without a passing reference to his poems, as
are now principally read.  The volume I refer to includes
the “Inferno,” “The Purgatorio,” and
“The Paradiso.”  It is here surmised that Virgil
and St. Bernard conduct Dante through these divisions of the
universal world, to help him to write something that would show
up the source of Italy’s ruin.  The poem is a fine
allegory, showing, as it does in the first part, a Panther,
representing Florence or envy; a Lion, France or ambition; a
She-Wolf, the Court of Rome or avarice; a Greyhound, Our Saviour
or His p.
83vicegerent the Pope; Virgil, human wisdom; and Beatrice,
heavenly wisdom.  His representation of Hell as a dark
valley, at the mouth of which is Limbo, and which are nine
circles indicating nine different degrees of sin to be
punished.  The wise and good even are represented as lying
in tears and sorrow, because they were not baptized. 
Purgatory is a step hill in the hemisphere opposite hell. 
Seven rounds have to be climbed before the seven stains of sin
are washed away.  At the top is the Garden of Eden.  It
is most interesting to follow Dante, as he ascends with his
beloved Beatrice to Paradise, through the various heavens of the
moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, the Sun, Jupiter, etc.  The
eighth heaven contains the triumph of Christ; and the Virgin Mary
and Adam he makes to dwell there also.  In the ninth heaven
is a manifestation of the Divine Essence, viewed by three
hierarchies of Angels.  While these poems are allegorical,
they are full of interest and show that Dante was greatly moved
and influenced by “the things that are unseen which are
eternal.”  In his youthful days he paced the fields
and groves of lovely Italy, writing sonnets to his beloved
Beatrice.  In his later years he had to eat the bread of
bitterness, being an outcast from his friends and from the city
he loved.  The world, p. 84however, has been enriched by his
poverty.  A sight of the place where he was born has
suggested to us this commentary.  We left the place not
without reflection upon the immutability of things that are
earthly.  From here our driver took us towards the lovely
gardens across the river Arno, the gardens of Boboli; these are
open to the public Thursday and Sunday.  Approaching the
bridge which spans this lovely river, we were struck with its
massiveness as well as its beauty.  It is called the
Jewellers’ Bridge, as jewellers’ shops line the
bridge on each side fully, except a very small break in the
middle through which you get a very nice view of the river as it
rolls along.  A bridge further on is adorned with statues,
and is considered the most beautiful of the seven that cross the
Arno.  When over the bridge the road is very steep; our
driver left his box to give the horse the benefit.  Now we
seem getting into the suburbs, the road is lined with trees of
all sorts; the acacia, the box, the walnut, the maple, the olive
and many others, I do not think I could tell the names of them
all.  Up and up we went, in a semicircular fashion, until we
gained the summit.  When we had gone through the gate into
the garden, the view was simply entrancing.  Florence, with
its towers and spires and p. 85domes, lay like a fine panorama at
our feet, and the river gliding gently through the city. 
The villages in the distances nestling amidst luxuriant foliage
of trees and plants.  The gardens around us full of beauty,
adorned with statuary, and a profusion of moss and creeper and
colour of flowers, we may never see again.  Just across the
river, we could see the tower of Galileo, where the great
astronomer nightly watched the stars, or

“Moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views,
At evening from the top of Fiesole,
Or in Voldarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers or mountains, in his spotty globe.”

Farther out the Casine, or the Hyde Park of Florence, could be
seen.  Perhaps no better description can be given than by
Mrs. Browning:

“You remember, down at Florence, our
Casine,
Where the people on the fast days walk and drive,
And through the trees, long drawn in many a green way,
O’er roofing hum and murmur like a hive,
The river and the mountain look alive.

You remember the Piazzo there, the stand place
p. 86Of
carriages abrim with Florence beauties,
Who lean and meet to music as the band plays,
Or smile and chat with some one who afoot is
Or on horseback, in observance of male duties.

’Tis so pretty in the afternoon of summer,
So many gracious faces brought together;
Call it rout, or call it concert, they have come here
In the floating of the fan and of the feather,
To reciprocate with beauty the fine weather.”

Along the valley of Vallambrosa, as you look across, pine
forests, lawns and mountains combined, make a scene the fairest
fair Italy can show.  Milton, in his “Paradise
Lost,” alludes to this valley, speaking of the fallen
angels who

“Lay entranced,
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallambrosa’s, where oh! Etrurian shades
High over arched embower.”

This was one of the favourite walks of Dante, where he loved
to wander and muse on his lovely Beatrice.  The views from
this elevation on all sides were very beautiful, and we left it
with a feeling we could never again gaze on scenes so
delightful.

Returning from these lovely scenes, in and from the Boboli
Gardens, over the same p. 87bridge we turned to the left and
passed the Mozzi Square, where is the Mozzi Palace.  A very
large building that has connected with it, we were told, a very
fine picture gallery, but we had not time to visit it.  We
then came to the Necropolis of St. Miniato, a church considered
to be one of the oldest on the continent.  The Florentine
Republic considered its splendid military position, and ordered
Michael Angelo to fortify it.  He therefore threw a strong
rampart around it, with strong bastions which were provided with
cannon.  It is said that many Christian martyrs died for the
faith and were buried in this church.  The tower was greatly
damaged by Charles V., but Michael Angelo saved it from utter
ruin.  Rev. D. M. Pratt says of Michael Angelo:

“A master mind before the marble stood,
Fresh quarried was it, rough and all unhewn,
To other eyes it seemed a shapeless stone;
To his, a stately form and beautiful.
Chisel in hand he wrought and what he saw
Came forth a statue, living and divine.
An artist stood and gazed on fallen man:
He to the soul, what to the marble rough
Was Angels, he saw and sinful man
A seraphs form.  He wrought, and forth there came
p. 88Manhood
divine—the lifeless took on life,
Oh! for the artist’s eye!  In every man
God’s image dwells, and he who sees the Christ
Sees God in man restored, and with him seeks to bring
His thoughts to life in saving men.”

A poet has written:

“In Santa Croce’s holy precincts
lie
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is
Even in itself an immortality.
Though there were nothing save the past, and this
The particles of those sublimities
Which have relapsed to chaos, here repose
Angelo’s Alfieris bones, and his
The starry Galileo with his woes;
Here Machiavelli’s earth returned to whence it
rose.”

The tomb of Galileo calls for a passing remark, as he dared to
contravert the old world notions of a central earth fixed in
space, immovable with planets curling round it.  The church
had stood by the old theory for ages.  If now they adopt
Galileo’s theory, where is their infallibility.  And
so ignorant monks shut him up in prison and burnt his books in
the public market place, and led out this great philosopher in
mockery before a gaping crowd, with a wax taper in his hand p. 89and a halter
round his neck, and demanded he should recant his opinions. 
Amidst the jeers of his friends and the awful threats of his
enemies, he was induced to go through a certain form of
recantation, in which he was required to declare “With a
sincere heart and faith unfeigned, I abjure, curse and detest the
said errors—I swear for the future never to say anything
verbally, or in writing, which may cause to any further suspicion
against me.”  Rising from his knees he whispered:
“But it does move for all that.”

p.
90CHAPTER IX.

Appalling catastrophe in Italy: Messina:
Savonarola, the enthusiastic preacher: His defiance of the Pope:
His excommunication: His cell, etc.: His martyrdom: Raphael, his
genius as a painter: Some of his works: The old Protestant
Cemetery: Our leaving Florence: Journey to Bologna and on to
Venice.

While I am here writing of the beauties of Italy, its fertile
plains, its sunny skies, its lovely lakes, its great works of art
and its still greater artists, a newsboy is calling out in the
streets: “Appalling catastrophe in Italy.”  An
earthquake killing not thousands merely, but tens of
thousands.  What! is that fair land devastated, and death
swept by such a calamity?  Is it true that loveliness and
danger lie so near together?  What! is there no spot on
earth where we may be absolutely free from danger?  Here in
lovely Messina and Reggio, I passed them on board the S.S.
“Benares” about two years ago.  The sun shone
brilliantly on the scene, a lovelier it would be difficult to
describe.  On my left Messina, with its marble buildings
glistening in the sun.  Temples and towers, churches and
barracks, all giving signs of p. 91strength and beauty to the fair city;
on our right Reggio, which appeared to be a city of great beauty
and prosperity.  Mount Etna in the distance, slumbering for
a time.  Stromboli as we passed was alive hurling up stones,
fire and smoke.  Now the cities named are practically wiped
out.  The Daily News, of December 31st, 1908, says:
“Yesterday, the total of the dead was calculated as from
fifty thousand to seventy-five thousand.  To-day it is two
hundred thousand.  This morning’s news helps us to
form a clearer idea of the awful scene as it occurred.  It
was early morn just before daylight, and all the beautiful towns
along the coast of these historic straits were still
asleep.  Death came suddenly and unawares.  By five
successive shocks, the cities were toppled down, and where they
had stood great columns of dust were rising.  Men, women and
children, soldiers in barracks, the sick in hospital and
prisoners in gaol were killed together as they slept.  They
died like ants in a blown up nest.”  A survivor from
Messina says: “The town is nothing but a dust heap, even
the railway station is swallowed up, the railwaymen are nearly
all killed.”  Another says: “It is too horrible
to describe.”  The Pope has shown the greatest
anxiety; has even asked permission at the Quirinal to transmit
massages to the suffering p. 92and the bereaved.  He also
summoned to the Vatican the Director of the Bank of Rome and had
with him some private conversation, and arranged for the sum of
£40,000 to be sent at once.  Our own King Edward sent
to the King of Italy messages of condolence and sympathy. 
The navies and soldiers of England, France, Germany and others
are giving assistance in extricating sufferers from the debris,
and feeding the hungry, and erecting temporary shelters and
generally doing all that can be done to mitigate the distress and
grief and pain.  Money is being sent liberally by all the
Christian nations at least.  So all feel as nations and as
individuals that “One touch of sorrow makes the world
akin.”  It is at such a time that the brotherhood of
nations asserts itself.  All racial barriers are swept away
in the face of such a terrible catastrophe.  The latest news
is that no less than 220,000 have perished, as many inland towns
have suffered most severely.  The cathedral and churches,
with all their valuable works of art, have been totally
destroyed.  Scenes simply indescribable are enacted and too
sad to relate.  So we see the uncertainty of things that are
on earth.

Notwithstanding the natural beauty of the surroundings, before
we left the fair city of Florence, we must needs do a little
shopping, p.
93and make some further investigations into the interests
and associations of the place.  The convent of San Marco is
a place worth a visit, and is open on receipt of a small fee or
gratuity.  Here is the cell of Savonarola, in which he was
confined before the martyrdom of flame.  Here is a fine
portrait of the man who dared to face even death in his defence
of the truth.  Here are some of his manuscripts, traced with
his own pen.  Here are his tunic, girdle and crucifix, and
even a charred piece of wood from the scene of his
martyrdom.  Such sights fill the soul with thoughts of what
men have endured to rescue the truth from Papal tyranny.  Of
Savonarola it may be said, he was a great reformer, a religious
enthusiast, and a martyr.  Born at Ferrara, in 1452, he
early joined the religious order of Dominicans at Bologna. 
At first his career as a preacher was not marked by any unusual
event, nor did he meet with great success, but on his appointment
to the Duomo, crowds came to listen to his preaching, and indeed
so eloquent did he become and so effective that, at times, his
discourses were interrupted by the masses of the people sobbing
and crying in their pews.  He became so popular that the
people pressed round him in the streets to kiss his
garments.  He went forth like a flaming herald of the cross
in p.
94defiance of pope, cardinal or priest.  It is stated
that under his influence the morals of the city became
purified.  The children were specially cared for, as many as
8,000 at one time were banded together in a sort of republic, and
were called “the children of Christ.”  The Pope
did his very best to suppress this holy work, but it was useless
to try to stop so God inspired a man as Savonarola.  When
this was ineffectual, they said make him a Cardinal; give him a
red hat, so make of him a friend.  He answered from the
pulpit of St. Mark’s: “I will have no other red hat
than that of martyrdom, coloured with my own blood.” 
Then he was summoned to appear in Rome.  This, however, he
refused to do.  Then came the ban of excommunication, but
this brought with it no terrors.  His answer to it is:
“he who commands a thing contrary to the law of Christ, is
himself excommunicated.”  “I may have failed in
many things, for I am a sinner, but I have not shunned to declare
the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  They threaten to burn me or
fling me into the Arno, that gives me no concern.” 
Ultimately he was arrested and charged with impiety and sedition,
of these, however, there was no proof shown, until a certain man
named Ser Cocone presented a forged document, and our hero was
condemned to be burned.  And on p. 95May 23rd, 1498, this noble saint of
God passed away.  Three platforms were erected in front of
the palace; Savonarola was taken up to the central one, clad in
his priestly robes.  Then piece by piece the Bishop removed
his vestments in the presence of the multitude, and pronounced
the degradation.  “I separate thee from the church
militant and from the church triumphant.” 
“Nay,” said the bold and daring saint, “from
the church militant, if you please, but not from the church
triumphant, that is more than you can do.”  He then
mounted the pile and gave utterance to the following sentence;
“Oh! Florence, what hast thou done this day.” 
Soon there was nothing left but the ashes of Savonarola. 
His spirit leapt into the chariot of fire, and he was with the
martyr throng before the Throne.  By order of the Commune,
his ashes were thrown into the river Arno, so that no relic could
be found of the patriot and martyr.

We could hardly leave Florence without giving some reference
to Raphael, one of our world’s greatest painters. 
Though not born in Florence, he spent a good deal of his life in
the city.  His education in the art was completed in
Florence.  He was born in the year 1483.  Michael
Angelo was to him an attraction and an inspiration.  It is
said that p.
96so fine was his genius, that in his time of tuition he
could surpass his tutors.  His most famous pictures are
“Christ in the attitude of prayer on the Mount of
Olives,” and “St. Michael and St. George,”
which are now in the Louvre, at Paris.  The Pope gave him a
grand reception on his entering Rome; and, while there, he
executed some very fine pieces for his Holiness, which so pleased
him that he ordered Raphael to give him other proofs of his
artistic skill.  He then painted on the Vatican walls
figures of “Poetry,” “Theology,”
“Justice,” and “Philosophy”; also
“The fall of Adam,” “Astronomy,”
“Apollo,” and “Philosophy.”  On
another wall he painted “Fortitude,”
“Prudence,” “Temperance”; and on another
place “The Emperor Justinian delivering the Roman
law,” “Peter’s deliverance from prison,”
“Moses viewing the burning bush,”
“Jacob’s dream,” etc.  It is said he
turned the Vatican into a picture gallery.  His pictures are
in many countries and in many cities.  He died at the early
age of thirty-seven, on the same date he was born, and his body
was conveyed to the Pantheon, in Rome, where it now rests. 
It is said of him, he was most affable, kind, and generous to a
fault.  He had an open manly countenance which inspired all
who met him.  Florence, fair city, must be credited p. 97with the
training and making of this bright gem of the painter’s
art.  Indeed, this city has given to the world some of the
finest men of mind and soul the world has ever known.  We
felt proud to walk its streets and to know we were on ground that
should be reverenced for the purity and greatness of the lives of
the men we have referred to.  We could not readily say
good-bye, but time presses, and after a visit to the old
Protestant Cemetery outside the Porta Pinta, which to Britishers
is hallowed ground, as there are here the graves of Elizabeth
Barrett Browning, the poetess to whom we have already referred
our readers; also “Theodore Parker,” and
“Arthur Hugh Clough.”  This “city of the
dead” was closed in 1870, and a new cemetery has been
opened for Protestants about a mile outside the city.  To
try to describe the beauties of all the suburbs of Florence would
require an abler pen than mine.  So we must close our
account at the “Minerva,” take our last night’s
repose and leave for Venice.

We rose early in order to have a full day of interest and
experiences.  We left this lovely place in the forenoon, and
as our train was about to leave, a lady traveller who spoke good
English boarded the train and entered our compartment.  We
soon became friendly and familiar.  She spoke our language,
she p. 98was of
a kindred spirit, though not from England, she was of English
stock and we soon discovered she came from Dunedin, New Zealand
(Miss M. Himmel).  She had visited Balmoral Castle in
Scotland, and the Trossachs, Inverness, Glasgow and
Edinburgh.  Also Dublin in Ireland, The Giants’
Causeway, Bantry Bay and the lovely Lakes of Killarney.  She
spent three months in our great city of London, and visited every
important church, museum, picture gallery, etc.  Also Norway
with its weird and awe-inspiring scenery.  Rome with its
telling old world stories in stone, marble and bronze. 
Naples, Milan, Venice, Florence, Frankfort-on-the-Rhine, Bingen,
Berlin, and to Cologne.  Then to Paris, the gay city of
France, to see its Notre Dame, its fine Boulevards, etc. 
Two weeks’ sight seeing in Paris.  Then to London and
next Liverpool.  Then for Dunedin, New Zealand and
home.  We found her well read and of wide experience, a lady
both in manners, education, and by birth.  We could exchange
ideas and enjoy each others company as the train sped on towards
Venice.  The railway intersects a rich tract of land at the
base of the Apennines.  On our right the picturesque castle
of Monte Mario, near which, we learned, at one time, the
Florentine Republicans with their troops p. 99were defeated
and taken prisoners by the troops of Cosino, in the year
1537.  We soon found out our train was climbing, by the
speed she made, up the great Etruscan Apennines we mount, now
through a tunnel, then across a fine aqueduct.  Again and
again this occurred, while the sides of the vast mountain ranges,
we noticed, were covered with trees—pines, poplars,
chestnuts, olive, fig, mulberry, and others.  The plains of
Tuscany, which were now below us, are reputed to be the richest
in Europe.  Wheat is largely cultivated.  Rice is also
sown in considerable quantities, and is used by the peasant for
food.  The use of buffaloes as beasts for farm use are
common.  No less than 3,000 are in constant use on the farms
and vineyards of Tuscany.  We saw waggons drawn by six
buffaloes frequently.  The grapes of the neighbourhood,
through which we were passing are said to be of an exceptional
quality.  As we passed villages on the slopes of the hills,
we saw the natives in their simplicity of dress and manner, at
work and at home.  At every gate where there was a crossing
of the railway there was a woman, mostly aged, with a horn to
warn travellers of the approaching train.  Reaching a
wayside station our train stopped, and I noticed on the platform
an Italian girl with a rude simple table or stall on which p. 100were large
bunches of grapes, I presumed for sale, so I alighted from the
train and seized two bunches about one pound each.  As I
could not speak to her in her language, I took some change from
my pocket and offered her the cost, so she took what she
wished.  She took twenty centimes, that is the value of
twopence, so cheap are grapes in Italy.  At this station an
Italian lady, and evidently two daughters, came into our
compartment with a little fancy dog, which one of the daughters
carefully nursed.  They brought with them one or two large
baskets.  In a little while one of them took from a basket a
very fine roast chicken, from which she began to feed the dog
with the nicest pieces off the breast.  When the animal was
satisfied they spread napkins on their knees, and evidently
enjoyed the rest of the fowl.  Some rolls and butter and
grapes for dessert, and also some bottles of wine were produced
from the baskets.  Later, as we needed refreshments, we had
to be satisfied with a few sandwiches, but the ladies seeing we
had no napkins, at once offered theirs, and, indeed, spread them
over our knees, with the greatest delicacy and politeness. 
Then they offered us, and pressed us, though in a language we did
not understand, to have grapes and wine with them.  Their
kindness and manner of giving p. 101expression to it touched us very
much.  They left us as we arrived at Bologna station, but
our friend Miss Himmel, however, remained with us.  We did
not stay long enough to look over the town, but from its
appearance it is a large and prosperous city, having a population
of about 100,000.  The cathedral is one of very great
antiquity and importance.  There are 130 Roman Catholic
Churches and twenty monasteries in this city.  There is a
very fine Piazza or Square, called Victor Immanuel Square, in
which is a fine bronze statue of Pope Gregory XIX.  St.
Petronio is the largest church in the town, in the Gothic
style.  Over the principal entrance is a bronze statue of
Pope Julius II., with the keys and a sword in his hand, by
Michael Angelo.  We left Bologna after a short time of
waiting, and were soon speeding through lovely and fertile tracts
of country.  The Adriatic on our right, not near enough to
see, but the air seemed impregnated with its ozone.  Our
approach to Venice became apparent as we crossed the lagoons with
a roar and a rattle, the numerous arches (miles of them) told us
we were near the city.

p.
102CHAPTER X.

Arrival at Venice: The ubiquitous Gondola: The
Grand Canal: The curious water ways: Our Hotel: A snap shot of a
Gondola and its freight: St. Mark’s Cathedral: Its curious
history: Its wonderful Tower, and its interior adornments.

I think it was the most thrilling moment of our tour, as our
train left Mestra, and almost immediately we began crossing the
long bridge (two-and-a-half miles long) which crosses the lagoon,
we seem to be travelling right into the sea, the gentle ripple of
the watery waves by moonlight as they extend on either side of
the line, has a pleasing effect.  The peculiar smell of the
seaweed is strong in the air, and right ahead is Venice, of which
some poet has sung:

“There is a glorious city in the sea,
The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets
Ebbing and flowing, and the salt seaweed
Clings to the marble of her palaces.
No track of men, no footsteps to and fro
Lead to her gates! the path lies o’er the sea,
Invisible: And from the land we went
As to a floating city—steering in,
p. 103And
gliding up her streets as in a dream,
So smoothly, silently—by many a dome
Mosque-like, and many a stately portico
The statues ranged along an azure sky,
By many a pile, in more than Eastern pride,
Of old the residence of merchant kings;
The fronts of some, tho’ time hath shattered them,
Still glowing with the richest hues of art,
As though the wealth within them had run o’er.”

Our arrival at Venice was about eight o’clock in the
evening, surely no time so fitting to be introduced to the fair
Queen of the Adriatic.  From the busy, bustling railway
station we were concluded by a Fakena, who brought up our luggage
to a gondola lying in the shimmering sea just outside.  No
cabs or ’bus as at other stations, the gondola seemed to be
everywhere.  As we stepped into our new found equipage we
were entranced, imagination fails to picture a sight so
bewitching.  Lights in a thousand directions, gondolas
passing and repassing as we sweep through the principal waterway,
then turn sharp round a corner as our gondolier cries:
“Stali priene gai e” as he passes others with most
wonderful precision.  We were thus conveyed to the door of
the Grand Hotel p.
104Victoria, where for a short time we were to make our
home.  We found the house all we could desire, warm, clean
sweet, and fitted up almost luxuriantly.  To bed and a rest,
and oh! how sweet after toil and travel.  We were awake and
out early to see the sights of this unique city.  We opened
our eyes on a lovely picture, soft, dreamy, beautiful.  The
water, dotted over in all directions, with this strange
craft.  It seems this is the only means of locomotion. 
No cabs, omnibuses, carts, or even a barrow.  There is no
animal in Venice larger than a dog.  Here the universal bike
cometh not.  The fashionable or unfashionable motor neither
puffs nor smells.  The train must not approach nearer than
the head of the Grand Canal.  A horse would be as great a
novelty in Venice, I should think, as a ship in full sail would
be in Wheeler Gate, Nottingham.  Right from the
water’s edge at our hotel door, we could see gondolas
gliding swiftly hither and thither.  In Byron’s
“Beppo” we find the following lines:

“Did’st ever see a Gondola; for fear
you should not
I’ll describe it exactly,
’Tis a long covered boat common here,
Carved at the prow, built lightly but compactly,
p. 105Rowed by
two rowers, each called gondolier;
It glides along the water looking blackly,
Just like a coffin clapt in a canal,
Where none can make out what you say or do.”

Appearing suddenly, through unsuspected gateways and alleys,
yonder, we see vast bridges and stately palaces of marble throw
their shadows athwart the glittering waves.  There seems
life and motion everywhere, and yet there is no noise. 
There seems a hush as if suggestive of secret enterprise, of
mysterious shadows, of the departed greatness of this still great
city.  Old Petrarch might well exclaim: “I know not
that the world hath the equal of this place.”

Standing at our hotel door, the gondolier waiting for my wife
and our friend Miss Himmel, I ventured (after they had seated
themselves) to take a snap with my camera to secure some little
permanent reminder of the curiosity of this manner of
travel.  The gondola is a most handy and quick means of
getting about.  We were out in the Grand Canal, and the
sight was, to say the least, most interesting.  Here is a
party of young ladies and gentlemen, with their gondola decorated
with ribbons in various colours, and with them, evidently, an
opera or chorus party, with their guitar, and some other p. 106peculiar
instruments of music, but sweet as the evening zephyrs, as the
sounds floated over the silvery sea.  The gondolas are all
black, why?  I am unable to say; but I don’t think I
saw one either brown or red, or green or white, simply painted
black.  The stern of the boat is usually decorated with a
kind of matting or carpet, at its prow the gondolier stands, he
has only a single oar.  A long bladed oar, so he stands
erect.  How he can scull ahead at such a speed is a mystery,
and at once pull back when there is danger.  He seems to
make all his calculations with the greatest precision, he never
makes a mistake.  Mark Twain says: “The gondolier is a
picturesque rascal for all he wears no satin harness, no plumed
bonnet, no silken tights.  His attitude is stately, he is
lithe and supple; all his movements are full of grace.”

A party of ladies go out shopping in a gondola, this may seem
strange, but it is really true.  They flit from street to
street, and from shop to shop, they leave the gondola as a lady
here leaves her carriage or her motor, by the curb, while they
have rolls and rolls of silk or muslin or linen unrolled, and
then, perhaps, have just enough cloth to make the pet dog at home
a paletot.  Human nature, we find, is much the same the
world over.  Boys and girls go to school in the p. 107gondola,
while they jump and kick, and fight on the way, but only in play,
until landed at the school house gateway.  Nurses are out in
the gondola with babies for an airing, and to pass away the sunny
hours on the waters.  Families go to church in the gondolas,
dressed in their best, they are soon sculled to the place where
they are wont to worship.  The mail boat is a gondola, with
its freight of letters newly arrived, and is always
interesting.  Funerals are also carried out in the same
way.  The gondola is heavily draped in black velvet and
silver trimmings, and furnished with huge candles lighted,
surmounting the canopy, under which lies one who, in his turn has
trodden the silent highways in the enjoyment of health, but is
now on his last journey, accompanied by the solemn chant of the
priestly requiem.  Business men come or go in the gondola as
we do here in cab or motor.  The doctor visits his patients
in and out of the quaint old city, not on a bicycle, but in a
gondola.  We saw a party flitting, the furniture remover
brought his gondolas, and furniture was handed out into this
strange vehicle for such a purpose.  At Venice it is common,
indeed, the only way possible of conveying goods or furniture
from house to house.  So, for almost all purposes, the
gondola is useful.  We found it a most p. 108enjoyable,
as well as a speedy means of getting about.  To say there
are no streets in Venice would be hardly true, or to say you
cannot get from place to place only by water.  There are
only three bridges cross the Grand Canal which divides the city
into pretty nearly equal halves.  The city is built upon one
hundred and seventeen islands, intersected by one hundred and
fifty small canals, and two thousand five hundred and eighty
passages or waterways; but almost all the waterways have a
footpath bordering it, while four hundred bridges unite one
island to another.  It is, however, very bewildering to pace
the mazes of this strange city.  If you get five hundred
yards from your starting point, you may have to cross half a
dozen bridges before you can get back again.

Our first visit was paid to the cathedral or church of St.
Mark’s, and this wonderful building, for it is a wonderful
place, has a wonderful history; it is this: when the Caliph of
Alexandria, who was bitterly opposed to the Christian religion,
was building for himself a magnificent palace, he gave orders
that the most precious marbles were to be procured for its
adornment, and to this end the Christian churches were to be
stripped of their richest treasure.  A raid was made on the
church of St. Mark at Alexandria, where p. 109the body of
the Saint was said to rest in a state of spiritual repose, and so
great was the grief of the two Greek Priests who officiated in
the temple that their cries and lamentations came to the ears of
two Venetian merchants who chanced to be trading in that
port.  When these merchants found out the cause of their
trouble they offered to take away the body of St. Mark and secure
for it a sweet resting place in their own country.  The
Priests at first disliked the idea, but when the temple was
profaned and robbed and stripped of all that made it attractive,
they gave consent.  It was a work that was very risky they
thought, for St. Mark had been known to work strange miracles,
and was held in great awe and veneration by the people. 
However, they entered the tomb in which the body lay, cut open
the wrapper in which the sacred remains were enfolded, removed
the body and substituted the body of St. Claudian therein. 
How to carry the body away safely was their next
consideration.  They fell upon the following
stratagem.  Placing the body in a large basket covered with
herbs and savoury joints of pork, they bore it along the streets
crying: “Khan zir!  Khan zir!”  Pork! 
Pork!  A cry hateful to all true Mussulmen.  In this
manner they reached the vessel with their precious burden in
safety, where, in p.
110order to make sure of their prize, they concealed the
body in the sails until they left the city.  It is said the
Venetians received the sacred remains with wild demonstrations of
joy.  A succession of fetes were given, ceremonies were held
in honour of the Saint, pilgrims flocked to the shrine from all
parts of the world.  A revival in the fortunes of the
Venetian Republic followed, and for a time the cry was often
heard “Viva san Marco!”  To secure a fitting
resting place for the body thus secured from Alexandria, this
church of St. Mark was built.  It is a five domed Romanesque
structure, decked with 500 marble columns.  It contains more
than 45,000 square feet of mosaics of the tenth century.  In
form it is of a Greek cross.  Marble from the Haram floors
of Eastern potentates panel its walls and cover its principal
porticos, and over its grand portals stand the four horses of
gilded bronze which were taken from the arches of Nero and Trajan
at Rome.  They were first taken by Constantine in the fourth
century after Christ to Venice.  Then they were taken from
Venice again, and this time to Paris by Napoleon, but they were
restored to Venice in the year 1815.  And here, as we saw
them, they look most attractive.  The Campanile or Tower of
St. Mark’s is not a part of the building, but p. 111stands a
little way off.  It rises to the height of 322 feet, and at
the top is one of the largest and finest vanes I ever saw, it is
that of an angel with wings outstretched gilded with gold. 
It was from the tower of St. Mark’s that Galileo made most
of his astronomical observations.  We visited several
churches of importance, but they are pretty much alike.  All
have their high altars and immense wax candles burning; the
picture of the Madonna in prominent places.  The
confessional box for the natives, also for strangers and
travellers such as we were.  We, however, declined to
patronize this particular line.  If we must confess at all,
we certainly take the Psalmist for our ideal, he said: “I
said I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord, and thou
forgavest the iniquity of my sins.”  Psalm 32, verse
5.  Plenty of Holy Water and evidently plentifully used, as
nearly every one coming in puts his fingers in the bowl and makes
the sign of the cross on his forehead.  Cowled monks paced
the floor with noiseless tread.  Priests and Bishops in
their distinctive dress are not scarce.  I gathered from
some source that there are 1,200 priests in Venice, a city of
about 100,000 people.  It seems as if everything had to bend
to the church and the priest.  In the church you have riches
without end, there are huge columns carved out of p. 112solid
marble and inlaid from top to bottom with hundreds of delicate
figures wrought in costly verde antique; pulpits of the richest
material, whose draperies hang down in many a lovely picture,
showing the artist’s work from the loom.  The Grand
Altar, brilliant with agate, jasper and all manner of precious
stones and slabs of what is almost priceless, the lapis lazuli,
which is on all sides lavishly laid as if of no value.  Yet
in the midst of all this display of wealth and of lavish
expenditure, all about and at the doors of the churches a dozen
or more of hats or bonnets are doffed and heads bowed in mute
appeal and a hundred hands extended appealing for help. 
Appealing in a language we could not understand, but with sad,
pitiful eyes and hollow cheeks and tattered garments, no words
were needed to translate their wants.  I wondered why all
these riches should lie idle and so many poor actually
starving.  Mark Twain, when visiting Italy, said: “Oh!
Sons of classic Italy, is the spirit of enterprize, of self
reliance, of noble endeavour, utterly dead within ye.  Why
don’t you rob the church?”

p.
113CHAPTER XI.

The Pigeons in St. Mark’s Square:
Further description of the interior: The Palace of the Doges:
“The Bridge of Sighs”: The general Archives of
Venice: The Church of Santa Maria dei Frari: London Polytechnic
Party: Some of the slums of Venice: Our farewell.

In the Piazza of St. Mark’s there may be seen, almost
any time, some hundreds of pigeons.  They are very tame, we
passed them so closely I think we could have picked them up in
our arms.  There is an old legend that these pigeons are the
safety valve of Venice.  How? it is difficult to learn, but
they are regarded almost with reverence.  Twice a day they
are fed by the public authorities.  A huge bell is rung, and
they come from all quarters of the city.  They know the time
of feeding and to show visitors that this is true, when the bell
is not rung, the pigeons are there.  If anyone hurts or
kills one of these pigeons, he is fined heavily for the first
offence, if it is repeated he is imprisoned.  We went inside
this beautiful church of St. Mark’s and at first we could
not realise the magnificence, the beauty, the costliness of its
interior.  The columns of p. 114porphry and amalachite and verde
antique, panels glittering with gold and gems, pavements dazzling
in mosaic work.

After some time we began to realize the splendours by which we
were surrounded.  Mr. Ruskin, I think, gives a fine picture
in very simple words of the beauties and richness of St.
Mark’s: “Then opens before us a vast cave hewn out in
the form of a cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many
pillars.  Round the domes of its roof, the light enters only
through narrow apertures, like large stars; here and there a ray
or two from some far away casement wanders into darkness, and
casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves of marble that
heave and fall in a thousand colours upon the floor.  What
else there is of light is from torches or silver lamps burning
ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels.  The roof
sheathed with gold, and the polished walls, covered with rich
alabaster, gives back at every curve and angle some feeble
gleaming to the flames: and the glories round the heads of the
sculptured saints flash out upon us as we pass them, and sink
into gloom.  Under foot and over head a continual succession
of crowded imagery, one picture passing into another as in a
dream; forms beautiful and terrible, mixed together, dragons and
serpents and ravenous beasts of p. 115prey, and graceful birds that in the
midst of them, drink from running fountains and feed from vases
of crystal.  The passions and pleasures of human life
symbolized together and the mystery of its redemption; for the
mass of interwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at
last to the Cross lifted and carved in every place and upon every
stone, sometimes with the serpent of eternity wrapped around it,
with doves beneath its arms, and sweet herbage growing forth from
its feet.  But conspicuous most of all is the great road
that crosses the church before the altar, raised in the bright
blazonry against the shadow of the Apse.”

To describe all the interior of this lovely structure would be
as easy as to describe our British Museum in London.  We
were enchanted, bewildered, surprised.  The baptistery, with
its sculptured front, and for an altar piece a massive granite
slab, on which, it is alleged, our Lord stood when he preached to
the inhabitants of Tyre.  Then the choir stalls are rich in
carvings of every description, indeed, everywhere about us are
treasures unspeakable.  The outside is hardly less wonderful
than the inside, with its domes, spires, statues, arches and
columns, which fairly bewilder you, as for the first time your
eyes fall upon such marvellous productions of p. 116the skilful
workmanship of man.  The King’s palace or what is
called the Palace of the Doges is just against the Piazza or
Square of St. Mark’s.  Against one of the columns at
the entrance I took a snapshot of my dear wife and our friend
Miss Himmel.  This place is full of things ancient and
interesting.  Ruskin says of its many coloured marbles,
columns, arches, and curiously sculptured windows: “A piece
of rich and fantastic colour, as lovely a dream as ever filled
the imagination.”  It has been twice destroyed by
fire, but from the ashes it has arisen more beautiful than ever;
here it stands to-day a monument of a strange and eventful
history of over one thousand years.

The power of the Doges it seems, was an absolute power for a
time, yet was of uncertain tenure.  Out of fifty, it is
said, five abdicated, nine were exiled, five were banished and
their eyes put out, and five were massacred, this up to
1172.  Life was of little value in those days, even amongst
kings, nor was it less so amongst the people, as often a man
accused was condemned without trial, punishment was swift and
sure and secret, generally by strangulation in prison, or by
drowning, hands tied and body weighted.  It was no uncommon
sight in those days in this land to see a body swinging from the
gallows by the p.
117wayside.  No one dared to enquire about the
unhappy man’s fate, or he stood in danger of similar
treatment.  Everywhere there was unsafety and fear.  As
Rogers, one of our poets, puts it:

“A strange mysterious power was there,
Moving throughout; subtle, invisible
And universal as the air they breathed.
A power that never slumbered, never pardoned,
All eye, all ear, nowhere, and everywhere;
Most potent when least thought of—Nothing dropt
In secret, when the heart was on the lips,
Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantly
Observed and judged—A power that if but glanced at
In casual converse, be it where it might,
The speaker lowered at once his eyes, his voice
And pointed upwards as to God in heaven.
But, let him in the midnight air indulge
A word, a thought against the laws of Venice,
And in that hour he vanished from the earth.”

Those were dark days in this city of wealth and power. 
We were not permitted inside the palace, but were allowed to
ascend the staircase at the head of which is the famous
“lions’ mouths,” into which, in ancient times,
were placed terrible denunciations, secret p. 118letters,
etc., which meant, what I have already referred to, imprisonment,
torture or death.  Also, along a long corridor, where we
could see the busts of the Venetian heroes, whose names were
enrolled in the “Golden Book.”  Beyond is the
hall of the Grand Council, in which are some of the richest and
most valuable pictures in Venice.  There is
Tintoretto’s masterpiece, “The glory of
Paradise,” the largest picture (74 feet long) ever painted
on canvas, the most precious thing in Venice to-day.  From
the hall of the Grand Council, there is further on the hall of
the Council of Ten.  Indeed, the rooms are so many, so large
and so full of things of interest, we left the place greatly
interested and very tired.

Another marvellous old church we visited was erected in
1565.  It is, however, much like other churches, full of
pictures, bronze statues and carvings in wood in great
variety.  The tomb of Titian is an object of interest in the
Church of Frari, but time does not permit us to dwell upon
it.  The offices of the general archives of Venice are very
fine buildings, they were in the cloisters of the Frari, they are
now simply the resting places of the most ancient records of the
old republic.  It is said there are now over fourteen
million volumes of immense value stored there.  They occupy
thirteen large rooms.  The museum p. 119is a place
worth a visit to those who are interested in curios.  It
belongs to the city, and in it are many curiosities, chiefly
artistical and archaeological—antique medals, armoury,
engravings, books, ivory, engraved stones.  It is a place of
great interest.

We crossed the famous “Bridge of Sighs,”
immortalised by Lord Byron, who says:

“I stood in Venice, on the bridge of
sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand.”

It was built in the year 1610.  We could not fail to
remember Tom Hood’s pathetic poem, written, it is believed,
after seeing a poor girl, one of the unfortunates, whose corpse
has just been discovered in the cold black waters under this
bridge of sighs—Drowned! drowned!

“One more unfortunate weary of breath,
Rashly importunate, gone to her death;
Take her up tenderly, lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly, young and so fair.
Touch her not scornfully, think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly; not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny into her mutiny,
Rash and undutiful, past all dishonour,
Death has left on her only the beautiful.
p. 120Still
for all slips of hers, one of Eve’s family,
Wipe those poor lips of hers, oozing so clammily.
Loop up her tresses, escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses, while wonderment guesses
Where was her home?  Who was her father?
Who was her mother?  Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?  Or was there a dearer one
Still and a nearer one yet than the others?
Alas for the rarity of christian charity
Under the sun, Oh! it was pitiful!
Near to a city full, home she had none.
Where the lamps quiver, so far on the river,
With many a light from window and casement
From garret to basement, she stood with amazement
Homeless by night.  The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and quiver, but not the dark arch
Or the black flowing river, mad with life’s history
Glad to death’s mystery, swift to be hurled
Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world.
In she plunged boldly, no matter how coldly
The rough river ran.
Over the brink of it.  Picture it, think of it.
Then if you can, take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care; fashioned so slenderly,
p. 121So young
and so fair.  E’er her limbs frigidly
Stiffen so rigidly, decently, kindly
Smooth and compose them, and her eyes close them
Staring so blindly, dreadfully staring
Through muddy impurity.  As when the daring
Last look of despairing, fixed on futurity.
Perishing gloomily, spurned by contumely,
Cold inhumanity, burning insanity,
Into her rest—Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly, over her breast.
Owning her weakness, her evil behaviour,
And leaving with meakness her sins to her Saviour.”

The bridge derives its name from the fact that criminals
crossed it from the judge’s chamber to the prison. 
This passage used to be on the bridge: “The way of the
transgressors is hard.”  The bridge is a single arch
of one span of ninety feet.  There are some nice shops on
the top.  Our next visit was to the church of San G.
Maggiore.  Amongst so many churches that we visited, I must
not omit to name the old church of Santa Mari dei Frari.  It
is about five hundred years old.  It is said the heart of
Titian lies somewhere here.  He died at the age of about one
hundred years.  A plague was raging at the time of his
death, which carried away p. 122something like fifty thousand of the
inhabitants of Venice.  Yet such was the esteem in which he
was held, the state permitted a public funeral in that season of
death and terror.  In this church there is a fine monument
to one of the Kings “Foscari.”  It is in its way
a curiosity.  It is over forty feet high, and is fronted in
such a peculiar fashion, I could only liken it to some heathen
temple.  Against it are four black men, as black as the
blackest marble could be, dressed in white garments of
marble.  Their black legs are bare, and through places that
seem torn in breeches and sleeves, the shining black marble
shows.  Above all this sits the departed Doge or King.

“The Church of Santa Maria della Salute.”  On
our way home we dropped from our gondola to have a look at this
sacred building.  It stands nearly at the entrance of the
Grand Canal.  A hundred statues adorn the facades.  It
is said the building rests upon over one million massive piles
driven deeply into the sea.  It was erected in response to a
vow, so it is said, in the year 1631.  Sixty thousand
inhabitants were swept away by a terrible plague.  The then
Doge vowed a vow to build a costly church in honour of the
Virgin, if the plague was stayed, from the day the vow was made,
no p. 123more
deaths occurred, and every year this event is commemorated in a
festival.  Reaching home tired, we soon went to bed and
rested.  Rising refreshed and it being Sunday morning, we
felt a need of our English Sabbath with its quiet rest and
worship.  This, however, was partly supplied by a party from
the Polytechnic in London, who, we found, were sleeping at our
hotel, so we joined them, after we had breakfasted, in their
songs, and so passed a part of the sacred day happily and
pleasantly.  We visited one of the principal manufactories
of mosaics and carvings.  A gentleman, who spoke fairly good
English, escorted us through these extensive works.  The
building was, at one time, one of the Ducal Palaces.  Room
after room, full of the finest mosaics, cameos, china works in
every conceivable variety, statuary, and carvings.  Some of
these works of art are almost priceless.  We bought a few
small specimens of the Venetians’ workmanship.  These
large palaces of days long past are crumbling to ruins. 
Byron says:

“In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no
more,
   And silent rows the songless gondolier.
Her palaces are crumbling on the shore,
   And music greets not always now the ear.”

Among the many places of interest in this p. 124very
interesting old-world city, that we cannot stay to describe, are
the Mint, the Arsenal, the Public Gardens, Titian’s house,
Academy of Fine Arts, etc.  We had just a look at what we
should call the slums, I mean the places where live the poor, and
the poor are very poor.  Someone has compared Venice to a
page of music, with its curious streets, palaces, museums, canals
and bridges, resembling lines, notes, double notes, crotchets,
pauses; its long and straight, its short, narrow and crooked
ways, its open spaces scattered up and down, its mounting and
descending of bridges.  The comparison holds good in as far
as the stranger may easily lose his way and not easily find it
again, in this maze of land and water.  In Venice nearly
everything is sold in the open-air in the poorer quarters, and
almost everything that is eaten, is eaten in the open-air. 
Stalls, where fish or mutton is grilled or fried, and passed hot
into the al fresco customer’s hands.  Turning into a
sequestered nook resembling one of the openings in our Narrow
Marsh, we saw a number of girls, very good looking damsels, with
guitars and dulcimers, they were giving a serenade to the poor of
that quarter.  They are the pearl threaders.  The pearl
threading is an occupation prevalent in Venice, as embroidery was
at one time in p.
125England.  A home of the poor was being removed
from one house to another, the furniture consisted simply of a
bedstead and a huge chest or coffer with a stool or two, and a
small wooden table.  These constituted their whole
inventory.  Nothing of marble or mosaic here.  Nothing
of gold or purple, only squalor, poverty and rags.  And now
we think we have seen Venice, our time also is used up or nearly
so.  We have surely seen enough of the profusion of costly
ornamentation in the old churches.  We gazed upon pictures
until our eyes were weary of looking at the finest works of the
painters’ art ever produced.  We have surely learned
something in this old-world city of the deeds and doings of
bygone ages.  To have seen St. Mark’s and its
wonderful Campanile or Tower, and the Palace of the ancient Kings
or Doges, and the Grand Square, and the Bronze Horses that figure
in so many legends (it is said there are hundreds of people in
this curious old city that have never seen a living horse). 
We think we have now seen Venice, and if this had been all we had
seen on this tour, it would be worth all the cost and all the
trouble to have seen this city on the sea.

Our new found friend, Miss Himmel, left us in the early
morning, her next visit was to Munich.  We wished her
good-bye and God p.
126speed, for in our very short acquaintance we had
learned to look upon her as a dear friend.  And so we leave
Venice, calling it as Goethe does: “a grand work of
collective human effort.  A glorious monument, not of a
ruler, but a people.”  So we departed, our gondola was
at our hotel door early, we settled up, he swung out and we were
at the station and caught the 9.45 for Milan.

p.
127CHAPTER XII.

Arrival in Milan: Our visit to the Cathedral:
Its Spires, and Turrets: Its Stained Glass Windows, Altars,
Pictures, and Sculpture: The Church of St. Ambrogio: The Bera
Picture Gallery: The Hospital: Leaving Milan: Arrival at Como:
Lake Como.

As we steamed out of this dear old city, a palace of dreams,
we looked back with a lingering desire to know her better. 
Across the lagoons we were soon out of waterways and amongst the
mountains of Italy; scenery lovely, bewitching, enchanting. 
With a certain poet

“I ask myself is this a dream?
   Will it all vanish into thin air?
Is there a land of such supreme
   And perfect beauty anywhere?”

For a long time we sped on through mountainous country whose
peaks were bright with sunshine, the hillsides were dotted with
pretty villas, which were surrounded with lovely gardens full of
shubbery, or ravines that looked cool and shady.  Before the
day had begun to wane, we caught glimpses of p. 128the great
city of Milan, and soon we were being driven to “Hotel
Europe.”  We found it all we could desire, large,
clean, well fitted and most moderate.  Our great desire, of
course, was to see the wonderful cathedral.  We had heard so
much of this grand, solemn, vast, airy, peaceful building, that
we could hardly sleep for the thought that we were so near what
our eyes were aching to see.  We rose refreshed, and, after
a good breakfast, we sallied forth to feast our eyes on the
object we had heard of so often, but never seen.  Into the
streets we went in a fever of excitement.  In this direction
and in that, around us, behind us, before us were busy
crowds.  At last, a very forest of graceful spires,
shimmering in the light of the lovely morning sun, burst upon our
view.  We needed no one to tell us what it was.  The
Cathedral! my dear wife exclaimed.  We knew it in a
moment.  How sharply its angles and its hundred of spires
are cut against the sky.  It is like a vision!  Some
one has said: “a poem wrought in marble.”  From
whatever standpoint you view Milan Cathedral, it is noble, it is
beautiful.  You can see it from almost any point of the
city, and for many miles outside it is visible.  We were at
its doors early in the morning.  The central one of the five
is finely bordered with p. 129a bas-relief of birds and fruits,
beasts and insects, so ingeniously carved that they look as if
they were really living things.  On entering, we felt as
though we might hear a strange voice saying: “Put off thy
shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standst is
holy ground.”

And the lines of Milton at once rose to our lips.

“But let my dear feet never fail
To walk the studious cloisters’ pale,
And love the high embowered roof
With antique pillars, massive proof
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
In service high and anthems clear
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstacies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.”

And Tennyson says:

“Oh! Milan! oh! the charming choirs!
The giant windows blazoned fires,
The height, the space, the gloom, the glory,
A mount of marble, a hundred spires.”

We were amazed at the magnitude, the brilliancy, the beauty of
all its interior parts.  In every nook and cranny and corner
there is some lovely statuary, or vase, or painting, p. 130and every
one is a study in itself, every face is eloquent with expression,
and every attitude is full of grace.  You can trace the
master mind and hand of Michael Angelo or Raphael in the many
objects of interest that arrest attention.  “Long rows
of fluted columns, like huge mountains, divide the building into
broad aisles.”  The lovely stained glass windows, one
of which contains no less than sixty panes; these throw in the
soft morning light their shadows upon the marble floor of the
aisles.  We quietly strolled along, viewing with admiration
the pictures and mosaics so artistically arranged by their
thousands of small pieces of coloured glass, until the whole
seems to have the finish of a picture.  Our guide showed us
many things of interest, which we might have missed but for his
aid.  A piece of sculpture, the colour of a coffee bean, was
shown to us, and our guide stated it was believed to be the work
of that famous artist, Phidias.  It is a figure of a man
without a skin, with every vein, artery and muscle, every fibre
and tendon and tissue of the human frame shown in the minutest
detail.  It was not a very attractive object to look upon,
yet it was a work of skill and genius.  The staircases to
the roof are of the whitest of white marble.  There is no
stone, no brick, no wood apparently amongst its p. 131building
material.  We did not feel like going up the one hundred and
eighty-two steps, to gain the summit of this great block, we
contented ourselves with a general view from the floor.  The
statues up in the niches high, looked like tiny dolls, while they
are really the size of a man.  There are niches for nearly
five thousand statues, but only about three thousand are filled
up-to-date.  We were not allowed to see the treasures and
relics, these are most valuable and curious.  We learn there
is treasure inside the coffers to the value of six million
francs.  This is in silver and gold bas-reliefs and images
of Bishops, Cardinals, Madonnas and Saints, Crosses, Croziers and
Candlesticks.  For relics they have a stone from the Holy
Sepulchre in Jerusalem, a fragment of the purple robe worn by Our
Saviour, two of St. Paul’s fingers, and a bone of Judas
Iscariot, a nail from the real cross on which Our Saviour
died.  Once every year these sacred relics come out of their
dusty archives, and are carried in a grand procession through the
city, amid the acclaims of a deluded people.  On the High
Altar is a very fine tabernacle of gilt bronze adorned with
figures of Our Saviour and the twelve disciples, the gift of one
of the ancient Popes.  A magnificent candelabrum hangs from
the roof of the choir p. 132stall.  Beneath the choir is a
small subterranean church, in which services are held in the
winter months, as it is much warmer than in the great cathedral
above.  This lower church is from the designs of Pellegrini,
and from this church is an entrance to the Chapel of St.
Carlo.  This Saint, it appears, was born about 1505, and was
specially good to the poor, as he sold his life interest in some
property and distributed it amongst the hospitals and charities
of the city.  He tried to introduce some salutary
improvements into the church, for the scandalous manner of living
of the priests had become notorious.  For his desire to
reform their habits, an attempt was made to assassinate
him.  Several of the attempts failed, they then hired a
priest named Farina to execute the bloody deed.  He gained
access to this private chapel, and as San Carlo was kneeling
before the altar, he fired at him with an old blunderbuss, just
at the moment he was chanting: “Let not your heart be
troubled, neither let it be afraid.”  The bullet
struck him on the back but did not penetrate his silken stole,
but dropped harmlessly to the ground.  This failure of the
attempt to murder him was considered an interposition of Divine
Providence.  He died, however, at the early age of
forty-six.  His death was p. 133hastened by the severe austerity of
his life.  His body is deposited in a gorgeous shrine of
silver, the gift of Philip IV., of Spain, and he lies in his full
canonicals and can be seen through panes of rock crystals. 
Upon the sarcophagus is worked in rich tapestry San Carlo’s
favourite motto: “Humility.”  There are several
busts of San Carlo, also a fine statue.  A mitre, also said
to be worn by this Italian worthy during the plague, it is
beautifully embroidered with feathers of the choicest and richest
hues.  There are many churches in all the cities of Italy
that are full of interest, some have been so much modernized
that, from the outside, there appears nothing unusual, but once
you are inside, surprise follows surprise.  Saint Ambrogio
is one of these.  The moment you get inside you are
interested, statues of costly marble, silver shrines, columns of
marble, vast and numerous.  One of the great sights is the
splendid facing of the altar, which is a marvellous display of
the goldsmiths’ art.  A fee of five francs must be
paid to see it, the front of the altar is of rich plates of gold,
the back and sides are of silver, all richly enamelled and set
with precious stones, the golden front is in three divisions,
each contains smaller compartments; in the centre one are nine
containing the emblems of the p. 134four Evangelists and the twelve
Apostles.  The transfiguration is also clearly seen amongst
them.  On one side are to be seen eight angels bearing
vials, on the other side are the four archangels—Michael,
Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel.  But the back is quite as full
of interest; like the front it consists of three grand
compartments, and these are divided into similar tablets. 
On one of the first is seen a swarm of bees buzzing around the
head of a sleeping child.  The legend, when explained, tells
us that when St. Ambrose was born in the year 340 A.D., a swarm of bees were thus seen
around the head of the infant while in his cradle while lying in
the palace of his father, and as no harm followed, it was said to
be an omen of his future eloquence and power.  He was chosen
Bishop of Milan in the year 375 A.D.  Other emblems, indeed they are
too numerous to mention.  On the right side of the nave is a
large serpent of brass.  Tradition states it is the serpent
of brass which was set up in the wilderness for the
serpent-bitten Israelites to look upon and live.  Tradition
is not always truth.  In the centre of the choir is a
curious marble throne, called the chair of St. Ambrose, its
appearance is very ancient, it is decorated with figures of lions
and strange carvings.  We left this interesting sanctum p. 135as we had
left other churches—impressed, instructed and
grieved.  The Brera Picture Gallery or Museum is also well
worth a visit.  It originally belonged to the Umiliate Order
of Jesuits.  It is of immense size, and its frescoes are
simply magnificent.  Amongst them I may name “The
Virgin and Child, with St. John and the Lamb”; three girls
playing a game then called “hot cockles”; “A
youth riding on a white horse”; “Child seated amongst
vines and grapes”; “The Virgin and St. Joseph
proceeding to their marriage at the Temple”; two minstrels,
such as usually accompany wedding parties; “The martyrdom
of St. Sebastian;” “The Israelites preparing to leave
Egypt”; “The Prophet Habakkuk awakened by the
Angel”; “Three cupids with musical
instruments.”  I believe there are thirteen rooms all
full of the finest works of arts to be found anywhere out of
Rome.  The botanical gardens are not, to my mind, equal even
to our own in this country.  The Grand Hospital of Milan is
well worth looking at from the outside, built in the year
1456.  The first stone was laid by Antonia Filarte.  As
you enter the great gateway, a very fine quadrangle appears in
view, and there is a double colonnade of arches, twenty-one on
one side and nineteen on the other.  I was told that over
thirty p.
136thousand patients passed through this hospital every
year.  It can accommodate at once about five thousand
people.  Monuments abound outside that have been raised to
the memory of the principal benefactors.  The theatres of
Milan are really palaces of beauty; indeed, I learn that Milan is
known by the magnificence of its theatres.  The principal
one is La Scala.  It is said to be the largest and the best
arranged of any in Italy, It is capable of holding three thousand
six hundred spectators easily.  There are forty-one boxes in
each row.  We did not go inside as our time was fully taken
up with other scenes and places.  There is a Church of
England, or rather services rendered by a clergyman of the Church
of England.  The Protestants in Milan are very few. 
There are several Free Church services conducted in the city, but
the buildings are not of any special character.  From
observation I should say four-fifths of the inhabitants are Roman
Catholics.  The city has now a population of over four
hundred thousand.  We visited a good many parts of this
beautiful busy city.  It has some very fine squares, some
noble monuments, some pretty gardens; also shops of all kinds,
and goods may be had at reasonable prices.  We secured some
small mementoes that were not very difficult to p. 137pack and
carry away.  After a few days stay we agreed to move
on.  So packing once again, and settling up our accounts,
and tipping the waiters (it is unpardonable to leave without
doing this), our luggage was once more on the ’bus, and we
were lumbering along to the railway station, now to make our way
to Como, and so on to Lucerne through the great St. Gothard
tunnel.  We had only a little while to wait, and our train
came in with a roar and a hiss.  A few minutes and we have
left behind us one of the sights that will linger long with
us.  “The Cathedral of Milan,” for some distance
we could see it behind us, and in front of us snow-clad mountains
some twenty miles away, our interest deepened as we proceeded,
for the beauties nature’s bounteous hand has spread all
over Italy is one continual surprise and joy.  In less than
an hour our train steamed into the station at Como.  This is
not a large place, but looks very pretty as it nestles in quite
an amphitheatre of hills.  Como was the home of Pliny, and
it is said to have been a very fashionable resort at the time of
the Cæsars.  In the middle ages it became an
independent republic, and for a long time held its own against
the large city of Milan.  It is now a very prosperous little
town, and it is said rivals Lyons in some p. 138respects
for its beautiful production of silks.  It is surrounded by
Olive yards and Orange groves, and near by is the beautiful lake
of Como.  This is one of the most beautiful of all lakes of
lovely Italy we have seen, and we had seen several from our
carriage windows, and it was only from this point we could gaze
upon this scene of loveliness.  Time did not permit us to
leave the train to explore and to enjoy.  We could see its
blue waters shimmering under a warm glow of sunshine.  The
surroundings are very interesting and beautiful, the eye does not
grow weary in tracing the outline of the hills which surround
it.  I do not wonder at the Psalmist saying: “I will
lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my
help.”  Psalm 121.  For surely earth cannot
present, nor unassisted reason fancy or conceive an object more
profoundly significant of Divine Majesty than these hills clothed
in their vestures at the top, by everlasting snow.  In their
presence “There is silence deep as death, and the boldest
hold their breath.”  The slopes of the hills are
covered with a very lovely verdure of green, intersected here and
there by glens.  On one side there are crags and precipices,
under whose shelter the vine hangs in bright green
festoons.  The Olive tree also is in good evidence, as shown
by its gnarled and p.
139knotted stem; Orchards and fine Chestnut trees in rich
profusion.  Passing along we see the white foam of a
waterfall as it shines amongst the verdure or leaps over the
rocky crags and comes dashing and splashing down the
hillside.  Further on we see the little white houses dotting
the hillsides, as if they grew out of the same.  Then a
single arch of a bridge that spans a small ravine and unites one
little cluster of houses with another, giving interest to the
whole surroundings.  In another hour and a half we were
steaming into beautiful Lugano.

p.
140CHAPTER XIII.

Lugano: The river Tessin and its bridge of ten
arches: Bellinzono: Entrance to the great St. Gothard Tunnel:
Andermatt Station: St. Bernard’s Hospice: The Devil’s
Bridge: The Wood Cutter at Work: William Tell’s Chapel: His
story: Entrance to Lucerne: Our Hotel: Our visit to the mountain
top of Sonnenberg, etc.

Our stay at Lugano was only for a few minutes, it looks very
much like the town of Buxton, in Derbyshire,
“Peakland.”  The houses are built of stone, the
streets are white and clean looking.  It has a population of
about 7,000, and has a little trade in silks, leather, hats, and
some shoes.  It is an important railway depot, as it stands
very near the frontier, dividing Italy and Switzerland.  The
Roman Catholics have a very fine church, and, as an accessory, a
very extensive nunnery.  The river Tessin runs near and the
town is protected by a very large dam, nearly a mile long. 
We crossed this river as we left for Lucerne, over a fine granite
bridge of ten arches and something like seven hundred feet
long.  As we left behind us this pretty little town, we were
soon recompensed by ever changing scenery that no pen can fully
describe.

p. 141About
an hour brought us to another stopping place, Bellinzono. 
From here we run side by side with the river Ticino, a very fine
river, and here began to ascend rapidly towards the Alps and the
great tunnel of St. Gothard, which is the largest in the world,
and by a long way the most costly.  On our way we had a good
view of Monte San Salvatore, some three thousand feet high, and
beautifully covered with green vegetation right to the summit,
and its sides are dotted over with little white homesteads, they
look very pretty in the distance.  We soon reached the
entrance to the great tunnel, which is a marvel of engineering
skill.  It is built in corkscrew fashion.  As we
proceeded into the darkness, in about ten minutes or less we came
into daylight for a few seconds and found we were about two
hundred feet above the little church we had passed a few minutes
before.  Again we plunged into darkness, again we emerge
into daylight, only to find the church is now about six hundred
feet below us, and this is repeated, we see the church five times
and ultimately we reach the top, about seven thousand feet above
sea level.  I think the station is called Andermatt. 
Here we stopped for a little while, we bought some postcards with
views of the tunnel and of some of the scenery about here. 
The cold p.
142was intense, the air very rarified.  Not far from
here is a Hospice where the dogs, the great St. Bernard dogs are
kept for the purpose of protecting the mountain pass. 
Before the railway was made there was a road that was passable
with guides and mules, though, not unfrequently, storms would
overtake the party and they would get lost in the snow, or some
venturesome individual would go very near the edge of the
precipice, and, as the snow hung over considerably, with his
weight it would break loose and cause an avalanche of snow to
fall, which would take the whole party into the gulf below,
sometimes two or three thousand feet.  At other times,
overtaken by terrible snowstorms, the party and guide would lose
their way, and so get buried in the drifts.  On such nights
the monks of the hospice would go out with the dogs and listen
for cries of help.  It is stated that scores have been saved
from being frozen to death by the great St. Bernard dogs. 
After leaving Andermatt, we again pierced the mountain in this
great tunnel, now we began to descend.  Coming into daylight
the sight that met our view was simply enchanting, we were right
on the top of the Alps and could see the great peaks and the
lesser mountains covered with eternal snow.  Down we
descended to Wassen, here p. 143we crossed a foaming cataract (by an
iron bridge) that had cut for itself a deep gorge in the side of
the mountain.  A little further we crossed what has come to
be called “The Devil’s Bridge.”  This is
in the midst of scenery of the wildest nature imagination can
conceive.  Why it is called by such a name I don’t
know, only the awful desolation of the place, the awe inspiring
grandeur of the cliffs, the terrible roar of the river one
hundred feet below, and the shrieking of the wild wind, aptly
called by the natives, “Hutshelm,” or “hat
rogue.”  Certainly it is an eerie, creepy sensation
that steals over you as you pass.  On we glide, now through
narrow rocky defiles, then crossing chasms of great depths, as we
did so we leaned out of the windows and tried to guess the depth
of the yawning gulf beneath us.  It made us dizzy to look
down.  Proceeding, we came into the pine zone, and the black
forests of these lovely pine trees seemed to be stuck on their
mountain shelves as if staring at us and saying: “Why do
you come uninvited into this quiet sanctuary of nature, too deep,
too awful to be trodden by man?”  Passing along we
discovered the woodcutters were clearing out the pine trees on
their mountain heights.  To fell the trees the men seemed to
be chained or roped on the rocky precipices, p. 144and the
trees, when cut down, fall upon wires ingeniously hung from trees
or large posts fastened in the mountain side and reaching for a
distance of two or three miles.  We saw the trunks of trees
sliding along and down these wires as fast as our train was
running.  We were not long before we came to the Lake of
Uri, which may be said to be out of the mountain ranges, and just
by there we saw the Chapel, erected at a very early date, and
re-built in 1880, to the memory of Switzerland’s great
hero, William Tell.

He was famous as a crossbowman, could shoot an arrow with
great precision.  The Canton in which he was born and lived
was partly, if not entirely, under Austrian rule of that time,
and so imperious was Gesler, the Governor, that he demanded of
his people that when his hat was hung up in the market place of
the town, every one passing should doff his hat and bow to
it.  William Tell refused to be so humiliated, and, as the
result of his refusal, he was arrested, and it was demanded of
him to shoot through an apple placed on the head of his only
child, a boy of ten, at a distance of fifty yards.  This,
Tell accomplished without injury to his son; he, however,
declared in his own mind the next arrow should go into the heart
of Gesler, the tyrant.  Tell, however, was not liberated,
but p. 145was
being taken a prisoner to the castle across this lake. 
While crossing, a very sudden squall arose, threatening to upset
the boat which had Gesler and his prisoner Tell on board. 
So severe was the storm that Tell was liberated from his chains
and asked to take an oar, it was known that he was a clever
oarsman.  Tell saw his opportunity, he ran the boat on the
rocks, then leaping out he pushed the boat off into the lake
again.  Gesler, however, managed to land, but he fell to the
arrow of Tell who had watched and waited for him for some
time.  To be relieved of so imperious a Governor was to
constitute Tell an hero, hence the keeping his memory green by
building a chapel; he is also commemorated in song as well as in
story.  Tell sings:

“Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once
again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free.  Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again!  Oh! sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads unto the sky;
How huge you are! how mighty and how free,
Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose smile
Makes glad—whose frown is terrible—whose forms
p. 146Robed or
unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine.  Ye guards of liberty,
I’m with you once again!  I call to you
With all my voice, I hold my hands to you
To show they still are free, I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!  Scaling yon height
I saw an eagle near its brow
O’er the abyss: his proud expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
I bent my bow, yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as if in great delight.
The death that threatened him, he knew it not,
I could not shoot!—’Twas liberty,
I turned my bow aside and let him soar away.

Passing along we were on the side of the lovely lake of
Lucerne, and as it was after seven o’clock as we rounded
the hillside, and passed the rocky precipices of the hills we
could see the twinkling lights of the town some two miles
away.  We steamed into a beautiful station, I think Lucerne
station, for beauty, for comfort, and arrangement, is the best we
have seen on our lengthy tour.  p. 147We alighted from the carriage on to
a lovely platform.  Porters in attendance, our luggage
conveyed most expeditiously to the ’bus of the Hotel de
L’Europe, and soon we were bowling along to that very
delightful hotel.  We found the place all that could be
desired by the most scrupulous.  We had an excellent
bedroom, clean, dry and comfortable.  Our luggage disposed
of, a wash and brush, and away we go to enjoy a splendid
table-de-hote.  We did justice, I am sure, to the good
things so abundantly provided, for there was no stint, no lack of
variety, and served with great delicacy and tact.  We were
not long after we had had dessert before we began to feel we
needed Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep, and to bed we
went.  Seeing the nets for the mosquitoes were hanging on,
we examined the room as far as we could and we came to the
conclusion the room was void of the troublesome creatures. 
Sleep fell upon us sound and refreshing, when we awoke we found
we had been the victims of the evil creatures, for we were both
bitten in one or more places.  Still, as the Yorkshire man
said, “It mud a bin war.”  We arose refreshed,
and were anxious to see the Rigi mountain, and the still more
popular Pilatus.  First we drew the blinds, stepped out on
to the balcony, we found a lovely garden under p. 148our
window.  It was beautifully laid out with flower beds and
gravel walks.  We stood and gazed, seeming to doubt if it
was real, that we were really on earth.  Could it be the
Garden of Eden?  It is like an exquisite dream.  The
scene seems to thrill like the sweetest chords of music. 
The hotel is like a palace, such lovely roses, charming walks,
sculpture and vases on all sides, broad flights of stone steps
leading in and out of the grounds to the hotel, and around the
grounds massive trees with all manner of names.  The Lake of
Lucerne, just peeping through the trees, and the mountain ranges
beyond, peak above peak covered with their snow white mantle made
the scene entrancing.  After we had tired our eyes with
looking on the lovely landscape we went to enjoy our dejeuner of
fish, fowl, bacon, eggs and coffee.  We left our hotel for
the first visit into the lovely town of Lucerne.  It is not
a large town but well built and kept very clean.  The
accommodation for getting about is good, by tram or ’bus or
cab, and not too expensive.  We soon found ourselves in the
centre of an industry of silk and cotton works, making all kinds
of fancy articles of ladies’ wear and of the very finest
materials.  Young girls sitting in the shop fronts, and,
indeed, in the doorway, plying their needles and crocheting
hooks.  p.
149A large number are employed in this branch of
industry.  Also the shops for toys were strangely
attractive, chiefly made of wood by the mountaineers, while
waiting for parties.  The Swiss guide lives in the rocky
regions, has a cow or two, and two or three goats, and is
prepared to be used as a guide, or he fills in his time with
making boxes of all sizes and shapes, pipes, animals of various
kinds, indeed, almost anything you can imagine he can carve out
of wood, with his knife.  Time is not very valuable, so he
works away until he has completed his work, which finds its way
into the shops and so, finally, gets to England, France or
Germany, as a toy for boys’ or girls’
amusement.  We soon found our way to the front of the Lake
of Lucerne.  It is a charming lake, the colour is simply
indescribable, it is neither blue nor green, but a lovely tint
made up of both.  As we looked across this beautiful water
we could see orchards and meadows sloping right down to the
water’s brink.  Straight in front stood the mighty
mountain called the Rigi.  As we stood awe struck with
delight to watch the vapours chased away by the coming sun and
the rugged face of the mountain laid bare in all its grandeur and
power, the sun shed its glow over rock and tree, and the stony
monarch seemed to salute you with a smile.  p. 150On the
other side, that is at our right hand, old Pilatus, rugged and
bare, seemed to look down upon the lake with a frown, and between
the two giant mountains we could see the wondrous Alps, peak upon
peak in a wonderful variety, clad in their mantle of eternal
snow.  And now above us and around us is the sunshine of, to
us, unusual brilliancy and a sky of faultless blue, not a single
cloud to be seen anywhere.  The picture is one that will
never fade from our memories.  It will enter into our life
to remain a constant joy to think of.

It was our intention to go up by rail to the top of the Rigi
or Pilatus or both, but other sights were so attractive that we
kept putting off that pleasure, as there seemed to be doubts if,
on the very summit, there might not be clouds to obscure the
view, as the height of the Rigi is six thousand feet, the height
of old Pilatus seven thousand feet, and there is an old saying
put in rhyme that

“If Pilatus wears his cap, serene will be
the day;
If his collar he puts on, you may venture on the way.
But if his sword he wields, at home you’d better
stay.”

We ventured a visit up the Sonnenbergh.  p. 151This is
done by train, or it would be more correct to say by carriage,
for the train consists of one carriage only.  The engines
seem to have their boilers tilted up on ends.  The railway
has a central rail which is cogged, and into this endless cog
fits a wheel underneath the engine.  This is really the
driving wheel by which it slowly moves up the steep
gradient.  We passed farms, orchards and plantations, up and
up.  It is a curious sensation to find yourself steadily
moving up without any effort of your own, but still up we went
until we landed on a lovely plateau, with a charming hotel. 
The view from this mountain height was beyond description. 
We left the train and wandered into the woods and viewed our
surroundings.  I had a camera with me so must get one or two
pictures.  We were ready to return by the next train after
being up almost in the clouds for two hours.  Our curious
old steamer soon put us in safety again by the side of the lake,
and from here we made our way to our hotel for some refreshments
and for a rest.  Again leaving our good “hostel”
we visited the Glacier Gardens, these are now enclosed and
protected, and a small p. 152fee is charged to see the natural
wonders of this lovely and picturesque scenery.  At the very
entrance you see what is called “The Lion
Monument.”  It is cut out of the solid rock.

p.
153CHAPTER XIV.

The glacier gardens: The Lion of Lucerne: The
glacier mill holes: The museum: The Bridge over the Reuss: The
Cathedral: Pilatus Mountain: Leaving Lucerne: Zurich: Lake of
Zurich: Zwingli, the reformer.

As we entered the Glacier Gardens our eyes were at once drawn
to this massive and very interesting and pathetic piece of
sculpture, “The Lion of Lucerne.”  The smooth
face of this quarry is about fifty feet high, and it looks to be
about as wide, it is overshadowed by some very nice trees and
climbing plants.  It is protected by a wooden rail, so you
could not, if you so wished, carve your name on the rocky
surface.  In the very centre of this vast square is a
wounded and dying lion.  The size in stone (for it is really
a part of the rock itself) is about twenty-eight feet in
length.  It was hewn by the order and from a model by the
renowned Danish sculptor, Morwalsden, and was finished in the
year 1821.  This famous masterpiece is dedicated to the
memory of the Swiss Guards of Louis XVI., p. 154who fell a
prey to the fury of the populace, as they retreated unarmed into
the French Tuileries.  The sculptured figure is in a lying
position, and a broken arrow or spear is in its side.  I
don’t remember ever being so impressed with an object in
stone as I was by this.  It has an expression of the deepest
grief, and such as must have moved many to tears.  Above the
figure you may read (as it is carved into the rock) the following
words: “To the fidelity and bravery of the
Swiss.”  Beneath it the names of the twenty-six
officers who fell on that terrible day.  Passing into the
gardens we were soon beside one of the glacier pots or
holes.  These glacier pots or mill holes were discovered in
the year 1872, and it is asserted by geologists that they were
formed in far past ages.  One of them, Albert Heim, says:
“I hereby testify both as a geologist and an eye witness of
the first unexpected discovery, as also of the subsequent careful
excavations of this wonderful phenomenon, that the hand of man
had nothing to do with the formation of these glacier mills and
polished surface of the glacier, nor with the erratic boulders
that lie about, or in those mill holes, but that we have here to
deal with a marvellous operation of p. 155free organic nature, a relic of a
time when these countries were not inhabited by man.” 
In those days almost the whole of Switzerland and, indeed, the
greatest part of the Northern Hemisphere was buried under immense
masses of ice, as can now be proved with the greatest certainty,
with here and there an oasis inhabited by animals long ago
extinct.  Our attention was drawn to a large hole in the
solid rock almost round, and the sides quite smooth and about
eight or ten feet deep, and at the bottom a large boulder or
stone, also smooth.  This hole is made by the whirling of
the stone round and round by the force of melting ice, causing
the waters to flow in strong descending streams.  It is thus
these glacier mills are formed.  In these gardens are quite
a number of these interesting specimens of the work of Nature in
the far past ages.  The largest of all the mill stones we
saw, was one which weighs over five tons.  This having in
some remote age, been whirled round and round like a toy. 
There are also some large boulders carried by the glaciers from
the high Alps and left here.  We also found some very fine
specimens of fossils and ferns that had been petrified into
stone.  We left this most interesting p. 156part of the
gardens and mounted up a large number of steps to the imitation
of a lovely little Swiss Chalet, surrounded by tall trees which
seem to be growing out of the side of the rocky eminence on which
the Chalet is perched.  It is called “An Alpine
Cottage.”  The president of the Alpine Club describes
it thus: “This cottage, cleverly and accurately imitated,
gives us a true picture of these highland places of refuge. 
Not many men, and still fewer women, are enabled to see such a
building in its airy district.  Here it is, within reach of
every one in perfect imitation of the real thing, inside and
out.  Even the inscription, here dedicated to the section
Pilatus is not wanting.  Let us walk in!  The hut
contains that homely furniture, those poor and scanty utensils,
the view of which, however, is so welcome to him who, in the
evening twilight, tired and weary, enters the hospitable and
friendly space, and makes use of them to take his frugal
meal.  Let us go to the window!  O wonder! what a
sight!  We are, as if by magic, transported to God’s
beautiful world of the Alps.  We stand far above the glacier
which descends majestically from the land of eternal snow. 
It requires a long time and a close observation to p. 157realize
that this is an illusion.  The foreground is a plastic
formation as in a panorama.  All the characteristics of the
world of glaciers are wonderfully rendered with scientific
accuracy.”  I have here given in his own words the
description of this most wonderful imitation of a Swiss Cottage
and its surroundings.  The museum is one that would give
entertainment and information to an enquirer after knowledge for
some time, particularly in geology and the condition of our race
in these regions in the far back past.  Instruments of
defence made of stone or flint or of bone.  These have all
been discovered in the immediate neighbourhood and
preserved.  A pick axe made of flint, chisels of flint
stone, sling-stones, lance-like instruments, earthenware vessels,
carbonized wheat, half of an apple petrified, hand hatchet of
bone, knife of bone, dagger of bone, dagger of horn, shovel of
stag’s horn, tumbler of horn, shuttle made of bear’s
teeth, sewing needle, very crude, made of bird’s
bone.  In another part of the museum there are groups of the
animals of the Alps.  The otter, the eagle, the horned owl,
the bearded vulture, a group of Alpine hares, a wild boar, a
group of bears, a pole cat, the common ibex, foxes, Alpine
jackdaw, wild cats, sea p. 158swallow, the chamois, the St.
Bernard dog, and many other interesting relics of past ages,
preserved for the pleasure and benefit of the present
generation.  A fine collection of the mountain ferns are to
be seen in their richness and beauty, with notices of the places
in the Alps where they may be found.  There is the ice
grotto, which we did not descend to see, but we were greatly
pleased with our visit to this very interesting place. 
Before leaving the gardens I took a snap-shot of my dear little
wife on the bridge, crossing from the glacier gardens to the
Alpine Chalet.  We visited several other places of interest
in the town, one, particularly, attracted our attention.  It
is a very old bridge over the river Reuss.  It has stood
against “the iron tooth of time which devours men and their
works together,” for about four hundred years. 
Anything more quaint I think I never saw.  It is covered in
and is in length about one hundred yards.  In the triangular
spaces formed by the beams that go to support the roof, pictures
have been painted, I should think for the amusement of passers
over, as they are not, as a whole, very edifying.  I should
say, perhaps, two hundred paintings are to be found on the
bridge.  There are some that may claim p. 159some merit;
these are representations of the various battles and victories by
the Swiss armies.  About the centre of the bridge is a
curiosity shop or bazaar, containing toys, bronzes, etc. 
Hastening across, for time began to be valuable, as we had seen
so little of this wonderful city, and our time for leaving grew
near, we needed to use the time left us wisely and well. 
The old cathedral must be visited.  We had, however, seen so
many, it hardly seemed likely this one would be at all
interesting, but we determined to pay it a visit; and, although
there is much about it that is similar to others we had seen,
still there is a difference.  On the outside and near the
entrance is a large metal plaque in bronze, with a large cross on
which is an image of the suffering Saviour, and a good number of
names of persons deceased, who had left the instructions for the
erection of the tablet.  Inside, the usual array of bowls of
holy water, confessional boxes, candles burning on the
altar.  There is also some very fine sculpture in marble,
also some very fine pictures by the old masters.  Of course
it is Roman Catholic, consequently the priest is in evidence
everywhere.  We left the church with feelings that a great
deal of the religion of the p. 160Roman Catholics, as we have seen it
on the continent, is a soulless religion.  It has a
framework but no soul.  We really hoped, before leaving
Lucerne, to have gone up the Pilatus mountain, as from there we
understand, can be had a splendid view of the Bernese hills, the
highest of which is the Tomlishorn, about seven thousand
feet.  It used to be most difficult to climb the Pilatus,
but now it is easy and safe.  It used to be associated with
legends of hobgoblins, fairies, dragons, etc.  It is said to
get its name from Pontius Pilate, who crucified the Christ, after
which he was so smitten with remorse that he fled the Judean
country and found his way to Switzerland, finding here in this
awe inspiring mountain, a fit place to close his wretched career,
and in a tiny lake near on the summit, he ended his miserable
life.  There is still a superstition abroad that his spirit,
in its restlessness, visits this mountain periodically, and may
be seen washing its hands as we read “And when Pilate saw
that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made,
he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying,
I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to
it.”  Matthew, chapter 27, verse 24.  It may, p. 161however, be
only imaginary, but superstition dies hard in such lonely
localities.  As we could not visit its summit this time, we
must content ourselves with viewing it in the distance.  And
now our time in this lovely city closes.  Our stay has been
of the pleasantest; the manager of our hotel (The Hotel de
L’Europe) has been to us the very essence of kindness; even
the mosquitoes were fairly generous, only on one or two occasions
have they troubled us.  So we packed up, paid our bills and
left, very reluctantly.  It was on a very lovely morning we
bade adieu to the most pleasant and enjoyable scenery of the
lakes and mountains around the pretty town of Lucerne. 
Having boarded the train our first impulse was to get snugly into
a corner and live over again the past few days, but the scenery
around us was of such a character, we could not rest in
forgetfulness of things passing.  We could see in the
distance the great Jura mountains.  Then near to us homely,
lovely scenery; there a little stone farm and farmyard, a little
stream flowing by, the farmer’s maid on an iron bridge
spanning the stream, giving the whole surroundings a picture of
rusticity.  A little further and we see an old mill, with
its massive wheel p.
162in motion and the miller’s man in dusty garments,
standing with his arms akimbo, giving orders for the unloading of
a heavily laden mule wagon; around us is forest and field in
pleasing variety.  We are not very long before we near the
lake of Zurich, which is very extensive, and like all the Swiss
lakes, it is very beautiful.  Then to Zurich.  I was
greatly surprised at the importance and the accommodation at and
about the railway station.  I think it was one of the best
we had seen, and for attractiveness I should say the
finest.  The town itself is of importance, having a
population of over one hundred and twenty thousand people. 
From the railway the city shows itself well, as a part of it is
built on the side of a rocky eminence, with the River Limmet
running at the foot.  Indeed, this river divides the town,
the upper and lower Zurich.  There are six bridges (and they
know how to make useful and beautiful bridges on the
continent).  Three are used for carriages, wagons, etc., and
the other three only for foot passengers.  The streets in
Zurich are very narrow, crooked and dirty.  On the hill
stands conspicuously, a grand Cathedral, the Grosse Minster; of
course, it is a Roman Cathedral, but it is, I p. 163learn, very
rich in sculpture and pictures, although, I fear, very poor in
that which should make any church rich—the Divine
in-dwelling.  There is a very fine Post Office, and all the
modern appliances and conveniences for the acceleration of
information.  It is a very ancient town, indeed, it was, as
history tells us, at one time a Roman city.  Zwingli, the
great Swiss reformer, played an important part in the history of
Zurich.  It was then the centre of the reformation in
Switzerland, and Zwingli was leader.  He was a contemporary
with Martin Luther.  He had studied at Basle and Bern, and
was made parish priest in 1506.  He was a great student of
Holy Scripture; it is said he copied the epistles of St. Paul in
Greek and committed them to memory wholly.  He accompanied
the Pope’s army against France as a Chaplain, and was
granted a pension by the Pope for his sympathetic attention to
the wounded and the dying.  His knowledge of the Bible led
him to examine closely into the teaching of the Romish Church and
he, led doubtless by the good Spirit of God, discovered many
things his conscience could not approve amongst them—the
sale of indulgences.  He wrote a work of great importance
condemning the feasts of the p. 164Church, also against the worship of
images, the mass, the confessional, and other abuses he conceived
existed.  In 1524 he married a lady of standing and
importance, by this act he broke away from the Romish Church and
incurred the Pope’s displeasure.  Soon after this he
joined the German Reformers; at that time Martin Luther was
leader.  Zwingli’s Bible was to him everything, he
found in it complete and unbroken rest to his soul.  To him
it was the one only ground of appeal, also the test of faith and
practice.  On minor points such as baptism and sacraments,
Luther and he did not see eye to eye; but on the main points of
Christian theology and general church discipline they were in
agreement.  He fought and fell in a war between Zurich
Canton and the Roman Catholic Cantons of Switzerland, in the year
1531.  His great battle cry was “my countrymen, trust
in God.”  Our stay at Zurich was only short, we soon
found ourselves en route for Basle.

p.
165CHAPTER XV.

From Zurich to Basle: Arrival in Basle: Our
Hotel: Our visit to the Rhine Bridge: “The Watch on the
Rhine”: The Market: The Cathedral and its sculpture, etc.:
Erasmus: The Museum: The Zoological gardens: Leaving Basle:
Arrival at Belfort: Belfort besieged.

As we journeyed from Zurich, we felt we were leaving behind us
sights we might never see again.  A certain poet’s
words came to my memory:

“Beautiful world,
Though bigots condemn thee:
My tongue finds no words
For the graces that gem thee!
Beaming with sunlight,
Beautiful ever,
Streaming with gay delight,
Full as a river.
Bright world!  Brave world!
Let cavaliers blame thee,
I bless thee and bend
To the God that did frame thee.”

Between Zurich and Basle we contrived to get a little relief
from the excitement of new scenes.  We had really been
surfeited p.
166almost with the richness and beauty of our surroundings
for so long a time that it was a relief to allow the train to
speed on, and to get into a corner and contemplate and
rest.  We arrived at Basle in the afternoon, and found it a
great railway centre, and indeed, a very important town, both for
commercial men and for pleasure seekers.  It is a great
centre for cyclists, as there are at least forty castles to be
seen within a radius of fifty miles.  You can be in Germany
in about twenty minutes.  From the north, east and west, a
number of the most important lines of central Europe are focussed
here, and swelling to a mighty mass, branch off again in every
direction to the interior of Switzerland.  Thus inner
Switzerland is laid open to the world’s traffic and
pleasure.  The surroundings of the city are very pretty, and
we saw it when it was most charming, i.e., when the autumn tints
are seen.  Here we see field and forest around this grand
old city in all the glory of the season’s
attractions.  We were advised by the manager of our hotel in
Lucerne, to go to the Hotel Victoria in Basle, so we secured the
usual fakeno to carry our luggage across, for it is only about
two hundred yards from the station.  We were, p. 167however,
disappointed in the hotel and its management.  They were
neither obliging nor scrupulously true or honest, the very worst
treatment we met with in all our travels.

However, our stay was short, so we determined to make the best
of it, the bedroom was good; and, although close by the station,
we slept well.  We decided to see the city the day
following; and going out, we soon found it to be a great centre
of commerce.  It has a population of about one hundred and
thirty thousand inhabitants.  Great silk factories rear
their heads in the centre of this great city.  There are
also manufacturies of chemicals, tobacco, machinery, etc.; also
some very large breweries.  It is said to be the wealthiest
town in Europe, measured by its population.  It has plenty
of open-air spaces, as parks, gardens and monuments; cool avenues
and well trimmed gardens are plentiful in the suburbs.  We
went to see the wonderful Rhine which flows through Basle, and we
stood on that wonderfully constructed bridge of which the poet
writes:

“A voice resounds like thunder peal
Mid dashing waves and clang of steel:
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
p. 168Who
guards to-day my stream divine?

Dear fatherland, no danger thine,
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine!
They stand a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to revenge their country’s wrong;
With filial love their bosoms swell,
They’ll guard the sacred land, mark well.

While flows one drop of German blood,
A sword remains to guard thy flood.
While rifle rests in patriot’s hand,
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand!

Our oath resounds, the river flows,
In golden light our banner glows,
Our hearts will guard thy stream divine;
The Rhine, the Rhine, the glorious Rhine!”

For some time we stood and watched the rolling river flow by
until tired of watching, we left after I had taken a snap-shot,
and retracing our steps to the market, a place of peculiar
interest, as everything seems different from our English
ways.  The stalls are set out differently, and their fruits,
vegetables, pots, flowers and shoes, indeed almost everything you
can need, we saw in the great space of the market here in
Basle.  p.
169The curious customs, dresses, language and money were
all strange; and we thought the dress of the country folk was
very quaint and queer.  We spent sometime in looking over
this great place, so many things offer attractions; without
however, making any purchases save a few post-cards and a little
fruit for our immediate use.  We strolled on to the
principal streets to note some of the very fine buildings that
adorn the city.  The Post Office is an imposing building, I
should say it was partly ancient and partly modern.  It is a
Gothic building and seems to be well suited for, and capable of
dealing with the work it has to do.  The House of
Parliament, or shall I say Government House, in the great market
square, to look at it, it seems to rise terrace-like, up to the
Martin’s Grasse; in the centre of each terrace is a court,
round which the halls and the various offices are grouped. 
There is a fine statue close by the stairs representing a Roman
pro-Consul, who had to do with the founding of the city.  Of
course, we must see the Cathedral.  In all the continental
cities there is a Duomo or Cathedral, and many of them are well
worth a visit.  The Cathedral of Basle stands on an
elevation p.
170and consequently shows itself well.  It has two
steeples, not very lofty but very pretty.  It dates from the
year 1010, but has been restored and very nearly re-built, as
there was a great fire which destroyed a large part of it in the
year 1185.  Again, in the year 1356, there was an
earthquake, so serious that the vault of the central nave fell
in, and the upper portion of the choir was thrown into the
Rhine.  Over the entrance is a fine stone gallery, and above
this a very large window, with Madonna and Child in fine
colours.  There are several fine pieces of statuary
inside.  The Emperor Henry II. and his Consort Kunigundi, in
colossal figures.  To the left of one of the steeples is St.
George in the act of killing the dragon.  To the right, or
St. Martin’s steeple, is a figure of St. Martin sharing his
cloak with a poor beggar.  On the side of the nave are some
very fine works of art in sculpture, such as four life-size
figures of the “Four Evangelists”; there is St. Peter
and St. Paul; “The Seven Wise and Seven Foolish
Virgins”; “Christ, as Judge of the World”;
“John the Baptist and John the Evangelist.” 
Above these are seen angels blowing their trumpets; the dead
arising from their graves and preparing p. 171for
judgment; over the doorway inside, “The Wheel of
Fortune.”  There is an absence of the confessional,
the Holy Water and other symbols of the weakness of the faith of
the Roman Catholics.  We were greatly interested with our
visit to this, one more of the Continental Cathedrals, and
especially so as one of the men who played some part in the great
reformation lies buried here, I refer to Erasmus.  He was a
learned divine of the fourteenth century.  He published some
very fine pastorals and works of theology, that even now are
considered worthy of reading.  It does not seem that he ever
joined Martin Luther in his crusade against the Pope and Popery
in general, but he became a staunch protestant.  It is said
that King Henry VIII. offered him a church in Oxford.  He
travelled much, visiting Rome, Venice, England and Paris. 
He ended his days here in Basle, and in the sacred precincts of
the Cathedral his dust reposes.  The “blue
house” is an attractive building; it was the residence of
the Emperor and Empress of Austria during the war of liberation,
at the beginning of the nineteenth century.  It has a fine
front and commands a full view of the river Rhine.  The
museum is one of the p. 172quaintest and strangest I have ever
seen.  It is said to be the most interesting museum in
Switzerland.  I cannot pretend to tabulate all there is to
be seen here, only indicate some of the most curious: “The
dance of death,” “Tankards,”
“Bowls,” “Carved Altars of curious
designs,” but very costly; the gold and silver plate
belonging to the Cathedral, many trophies taken in war and
weapons also.  There are ancient household implements; also
several important heirlooms of Erasmus; some fine figures of
Samson and Delilah are to be seen at the entrance.

“The Strassburg Monument” in the Elizabeth
Gardens, close to the Central Railway Station, is a fine
sculpture in white marble (I took a snap-shot) by Bartholdi, and
was presented to the city by Baron Herve de Gringer, in
commemoration of the assistance given by the Swiss in 1870, to
the citizens of Strassburg when sorely pressed by the
enemy.  The Zoological Gardens of Basle are very extensive,
and so far as I know, are the only gardens of this description in
Switzerland.  The way to it is full of beauty and
interest.  There is also another place some people might
think important, we did not—that is the Crematorium. 
Many other places of interest in and around this fine old p. 173city, we
had not time to visit, our time being limited.  We could not
help being struck with the fact that the ancient landmarks of
this old world city are fast disappearing, and old buildings
being pulled down and new palatial ones being erected on all
hands.  The crumbling walls of the middle ages are fallen;
the moats are all filled in; narrow streets and alleys are being
swept away in the onward march of time; and the broad squares and
commodious dwelling houses are being put up.  The beauty
after all, is the rolling river Rhine.  We closed our
account at the hotel, wrote up our journals and prepared to leave
this interesting old city.  We left our hotel early in the
morning, and were soon seated in a train for Belfort, in
France.  We had to cross the Rhine over a fine railway
bridge, and as we crossed it we had a good view of the river as
it rolled past.  It comes through Alsace and Lorraine, the
territory ceded by France to Germany after the great victory
achieved by the latter, in the year 1870.  The scenery,
since leaving Switzerland, is less rugged and mountainous, but
the foliage, in its autumn colours, is very pretty.  A
couple of hours brought us to the town of Belfort.  It has
now p. 174a
population of about thirty thousand.  We could see first of
all, it was well fortified.  The castle has a fine
appearance in the distance, as it stands on a rocky eminence;
something like our castle here in Nottingham.  There is a
fine old parish church (the religious element is well represented
wherever we find ourselves).  It is a manufacturing centre,
especially for mats, but also wax tapers.  There are several
large breweries.  This town was surrounded by the Germans in
the great Franco-German war of 1870.  But month after month
it bravely, resolutely withstood all their attempts at capture;
and although both food and ammunition became scanty, they still
held on, until by sheer force of lack of provisions, they
capitulated in February, 1871, to the great satisfaction of the
Germans, and to the chagrin of the proud French.  The
Germans, in their generosity, and as a recognition of the bravery
of the French soldiers, allowed them to march out of the town
with full military honours.  It is one of the towns that
closely border Alsace and Lorraine of the Haut Rhin that was left
to the French at the annexation in February, 1871.

p.
175CHAPTER XVI.

At Marseilles: Our Hotel; Meeting Mr. and Mrs.
Green and Mrs. Martin: The sights of the City: The Cathedral,
etc.: En route for Mentone: Toulon: Passing Nice: Cannes: Arrival
at Mentone: Our Hotel: Meeting Mr. and Miss Brown: The scenery,
etc.: Visit to Monte Carlo.

Our visit to Marseilles was made in the earlier part of the
year, also to the Riviera.  On reaching Marseilles after a
long and tedious journey, we proceeded to the “Grand Hotel
du Louvre et Paix,” that we had previously arranged should
be our stopping place, during our stay in the city.  The
hotel ’bus was at the station and we were soon safely
inside and our baggage on the top; through some rambling streets
we soon found ourselves at an hotel of no mean pretensions. 
The front is facing a very fine street, and is of massive
proportions.  Inside is even better than the outside. 
Everything up-to-date; lovely chandeliers with electric light;
mirrors, carpets of the richest and best quality; writing rooms,
coffee rooms, dining rooms and several hundreds of bed
rooms.  We just looked round and got the p. 176number of
our bed room and were about to step into the lift, which had just
descended, when to our surprise we met face to face, a dear old
friend of ours, Mrs. Martin, of Glasgow, and she was apparently
as much surprised to see us.  We hurried through our toilet
and went down stairs to learn why she was here alone.  She
told us her father, G. Green, Esq. (a very dear and almost
life-long friend of ours) was returning from a visit to America
and the West Indies, and she expected him and Mrs. Green arriving
at Marseilles at once; indeed, she was just going down to the
docks to see if the boat was in.  In the meantime we had
lunch, which just then was very necessary and most
acceptable.  We wanted to see a bit of the city, as our time
was limited, and we could ill afford to lose any of it.  We
found the shops fairly good, but prices very high for anything
that was worth having.  We omitted spending at present, so
went back to our hotel where we met Mr. and Mrs. Green to our
great surprise and pleasure.  After the usual salutations,
etc., we wanted to know each other’s programme, to see if
we could not have at least a few days together.  We had
arranged to go on to Mentone, and had booked hotel beforehand;
they had decided, with Mrs. Martin, to go to Cannes the same p. 177day, so we
arranged to return from Mentone earlier than we had thought, and
visit Cannes; and they arranged to stay at Cannes till we
arrived, and have at least two days with us.  So they left
us for Cannes after having some refreshments.  We further
explored the city; the population now numbers nearly half a
million, it is the next largest city in France save Paris. 
There is a grand Triumphal Arch not far from the railway termini,
erected to commemorate the French campaign in Spain.  The
docks are most extensive, as they cover an area of about one
hundred and seventy acres, and they must have cost many millions
of pounds sterling.  On the south side of the city may be
seen, a long distance off, “The Notre Dame de la
Garde.”  It stands on a bare rock hill.  To reach
it you pass through an enclosure protected by iron railings, you
take tickets and get into an elevator which quickly raises you
over three hundred feet.  From here, however, you have to
reach this curious old Cathedral by many steps.  When you
have just gained the summit, there is a very fine view of the
city at your feet, and of the Mediterranean Sea, with the
graceful curves of the coast line lending enchantment to the
view.  The island of Monte Cristo is also well in sight,
reminding you of Dumas’ novel.  It is said p. 178that, on
the spot where this church stands, the Druids celebrated their
crafts and mysteries.  Inside there are some very fine
columns of blue marble from the Alps.  The ceilings and
walls are hung with pious offerings, commemorating strange
deliverances at sea.  There is an image of the Virgin in the
shape of a flying mermaid, appearing to a ship in a storm. 
The Cornish Road or Chemin de Centure, is a great attraction, as
it runs along the coast for a long distance, indeed, it is said
to run along the coast to Naples, following the sea all the way;
curving and jutting out, just as the sea has apparently found the
bays and the promontories.  The principal streets of
Marseilles are very broad, and there is some lovely
architecture.  I give a picture, as I took the snap-shot of
what stands at the junction of three or four of their main
streets.  The city is well surrounded by hills, covered with
vineyards and oliveyards; and the country round, for some
distance, is specked with white country houses.  Our stay is
of short duration, so good-bye to the port, to the shops, to the
Cathedral.  Our hotel bill is to be settled, and, this done,
the great lumbering ’bus is awaiting us.  We say adieu
to our French waiters, boots and Concierge, and are soon at the
railway p.
179station and in the train for Mentone.  Leaving
Marseilles we noticed the scenery began to be rugged and rocky,
for some distance.  The sea, however, was a great
attraction, the blue Mediterranean is I think always pleasing to
look at; and we could feel the pure bracing air as it came up
from the sea.  About two hours brought us to an important
station called Toulon.  This is said to be the Plymouth of
France.  The dockyard and fleet of Toulon were destroyed by
a British force under Sir Sidney Smith, detached from the fleet
of Lord Hood, in November, 1793.  There is a wonderful
history attached to this city, which I have neither the time nor
the disposition to enter upon.  Our train was delayed here,
so I dismounted to get some oranges, when, to my dismay, the
train moved on and left me hatless on an open platform. 
However, I found it was only to move to the tank to take
water.  In ten minutes’ time it returned, so set at
rest my little wife’s troubles and my own.  We soon
left behind us this apparently prosperous and busy town, and were
again surrounded by hills and the sea.  Landscapes of bays
and promontories, rocks and ravines.  To my mind I have seen
nothing in all my travels (and I have been over four continents)
to equal the stretch of coast and country p. 180from
Marseilles to Mentone.  It is beyond all question the
loveliest part of the fair land of France.  On all sides as
the train steams along it is pretty, gay and captivating, as the
sunny shores are washed by the rolling sea, and an azure sky is
overhead; and beyond, in the background, you can occasionally see
lines of lofty hills crowned with eternal snow.  As we
passed the various stations, as Nice, the scenery becomes richer
and more beautiful.  Lovely avenues bordered with flowers,
winding through the plain; and shady footpaths meandering among
fields of asphodel and lavender.  As we passed St. Raphael
Station we noticed a very peculiar formation of the
sea-shore.  On we sped through the most beautiful scenery,
palm trees began to seem plentiful; the first I saw looked so
lovely I took my camera and got a snap-shot; but as we proceeded
they became quite common.  At Nice, the races were just
over, and we saw numerous horses and horsemen leaving the race
course.  We had passed Cannes, and after which, Monte Carlo,
and soon reached our destination where we remained for a few days
(Mentone).  We had selected, as was our custom, a hotel
beforehand, this time it was “Hotel de
Mentone.”  So on the arrival of our train in the
station we looked p.
181out for the hotel omnibus.  We were surrounded by
porters to carry our baggage, and almost a quarrel ensued which
should have the job.  However, we were conducted to the
’bus and very quickly driven to the hotel named.  We
found it all we could wish, indeed, the most comfortable and best
managed we had found in all our travels.  The manager, M. C.
Husson, is the very acme of kindness and attention, our wants
seemed to be anticipated and met most expeditiously.  Our
bedroom, large and airy, facing and within one hundred yards of
the blue Mediterranean; the garden full of the most lovely palm
trees.  My little wife said: “this is like
paradise.”  The climate of this lovely town is very
mild, and fogs, they tell us, are unknown.  It is surrounded
by an amphitheatre of mountains, consequently no north or east
winds affect them; the hills intervening between these Alpine
Mountains and the town and the sea, are covered with gardens of
the orange tree (in full fruitage when we saw them January 18th);
also the lemon and olive tree.  Mentone is a favourite
winter resort for English visitors.

In our hotel we found some interesting people, some of them
from England; and those who could speak English were to us, more
than usually interesting.  We seemed p. 182to be
specially drawn toward a lady and gentleman from
Southend-on-Sea—a Mr. Brown and Miss Brown, his
daughter.  She made herself particularly useful and nice to
my little wife.  We were strangers, and all about us a
strange tongue was spoken and new customs in vogue.  Miss
Brown most kindly offered her aid at any time and on any point
that was desired.  This was most gratefully accepted, and in
a few days we were fast friends.  A correspondence has been
kept up since we left, so that in all likelihood the friendship
formed in Mentone will be continuous and pleasant.  We took
our walks each morning along the fine promenade in the clear
fresh sunshine and bracing sea breeze, so we could feel we were
gaining strength and getting a real good bracing up.  We
took lunch, more than once, at a sweet little Swiss restaurant,
everything was scrupulously clean and sweet.  We visited the
Park Gardens, where the band was every day discoursing sweet
music.  These gardens are filled on two sides with orange
trees; and as we passed them the fruit was just lovely, ripe and
ready for plucking.  The borders and beds were full of the
most beautiful flowers in full bloom.  I got two or three
snapshots of this pretty place and surroundings.

We visited the p.
183cemetery on the hillside.  It is difficult to
reach, as there are so many steps, but it is well worth a
visit.  Here are laid to rest the dust of many
generations.  We found marble monuments in memory of several
English residents, who had died in Mentone and were buried
here.  The graves or mausoleums are carefully kept. 
Flowers bloom most luxuriantly, and intertwine themselves in and
around the sculpture on all sides.  Some graves have, built
over them, a small tent or room, which is adorned with pictures
and filled with flowers.  Here the relations of the deceased
come, and seem to commune with the departed; at any rate they
find some kind of solace in spending a little time near the
sacred dust of loved ones.  We visited the Market Place, and
on market day too, to see the costers from the country in dresses
quaint and queer, with their donkeys and carts of the rudest
make.  One would really have liked to have laughed at their
simplicity.  The fruit, flowers and vegetables were of a
very fine quality; nothing so large in England.  New
potatoes in January, and new green peas, tomatoes; indeed,
everything that our gardens will produce in June, they get here
in January.  Monte Carlo is only a few miles from Mentone,
and there is a tram running; so we determined to pay a visit to
p. 184this
interesting place before we left the Riviera.  A lovely day
found us on the tram en route for Monte Carlo.  Up the
hillsides our tram went, and round some curves that to us seemed
dangerous, across some deep ravines, ascending, then descending,
for the road is along the rocky mountain side.  In about
forty minutes we reached this place of notoriety.  It is
certainly one of the loveliest places under the sun. 
Someone has said “it is my ideal, in outward appearance, of
what heaven will be.”  Words are too poor to paint the
beauties of Monte Carlo.  Some of the places in my native
county, Derbyshire, such as “Lovers’ Leap,”
“Monsale Dale,” “High Tor,” and others,
but on a small and insignificant scale, remind me of the Riviera,
only the sea and climate is lacking.

p.
185CHAPTER XVII.

Monte Carlo: Its Casino and gardens: Leave
taking at Mentone of Mr. and Miss Brown: Arrival at Cannes:
Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Green: Cannes, its scenery, etc.: Visit to
Grasse: Journey to Paris: London: Home, Sweet Home.

It seems as if Nature had lavished her richest treasures on
Monte Carlo.  Its terraces covered with palms; its orange
groves and oliveyards; its massive hotels of marble; its azure
sky and ever blue Mediterranean sparkling at its foot.  Then
there is the Casino, “the gambling hell,” as it has
been called.  A building upon which no money or care has
been spared to make it an attraction, and it has undoubtedly been
a success, for thousands throng its rooms daily. We had no
difficulty in getting inside.  I presented my card to an
official in braided coat, who, when he saw it, and had given a
look at us, I presume, thought it would be safe to give us
admission, and took us to a ticket box where the usual entrance
ticket was granted, and we were admitted inside.  Oh! what a
scene!  Tables covered with p. 186green baize and marked with figures;
the gamblers or players crowded round every table, staking mostly
five franc pieces; sometimes one five franc piece and sometimes
five.  Two men representing the bank with hooks or rakes,
drew in the cash, as the Roulette declared for the bank; the
winners raking their gains in as the tale of the Roulette was in
their favour.  The faces of the players were a study and
tempted one to moralize and try to predict the effect of this
sort of thing on the character of the gamblers.  It is an
awful thing to be caught in the clutches of a gambling
saloon—this one in particular.  There are many tables,
all full; and crowds round waiting for an opportunity.  We
went through the vast building, it is richly carpeted and the
upholstering is of the best; settees, mirrors, chandeliers, etc.,
all give to it an appearance of wealth.  Monte Carlo is in
the territory of Monaco, which is the smallest independent state
in Europe at least.  It only covers about eight square
miles.  It formerly included Mentone and Roccabruna, but
these have been ceded to France for four million francs. 
The Palace of the Prince is on the promontory or rock just below
the Casino.  p.
187Surrounding it are some lovely gardens, and the
appearance of some protection in the shape of cannon, etc.;
these, however, would be useless if they were ever needed. 
It is said that his chief revenue is from the Casino, which pays
him about two hundred thousand pounds per annum.  The
population under the Prince is now about ten thousand.  I
took a snap-shot or two, and we strolled about until weary, then
we found our way to the tram and in about an hour were in our
hotel enjoying table-de-hote.  Our time for leaving Mentone
had arrived, and again we packed, at least, my little wife
did.  We said good-bye, with reluctance, to a place that had
given us so much pleasure; also to our new found
friends—specially Miss Brown—my dear wife had grown
quite fond of her.  I think it was because she showed such
kindness to us when we arrived, also she spoke English; and that,
in itself, attracts an Englishman when away from home.  The
leave taking between them was quite affectionate and, doubtless,
correspondence will follow.  We left Mentone in the lovely
sunshine, and from under the lovely palm trees, and were soon
passing Monaco, Monte Carlo and Nice.  We p. 188reached
Cannes all safe and sound.  A lovely motor carriage was at
our disposal for the “Hotel de la Plage.”  We
were met by our old friend—George Green, Esq., and his good
wife and daughter, Mrs. Martin, who also had a friend with her
from Glasgow, Mrs. Giles.  They gave us a hearty welcome to
our hotel, second to none on the continent, I think, and lovely
for situation, close by the sea; and surrounded with the most
lovely semi-tropical plants, as the photo or snap-shot
shows.  We enjoyed the two or three days immensely with our
friends in this lovely spot; for Cannes is lovely.  The Bay
of Cannes surpasses, it is said, the Bay of Naples for
beauty.  “Then there is the Cape of Antibes, with its
gardens of dreamland and fairies!”  The Estrel, with
its profound solitude, and with its masses of red porphyry, like
buildings erected by the Titians; with its arid soil covered with
crooked pines, raising their branches towards the pure azure
sky.  Cannes is said to be a vast garden, where the flowers
are scattered in profusion by Nature with a lavish and never
wearying hand.  There is also the orange, the lemon, the
oleander, the pepper plant, and the palm tree; all p. 189growing
side by side with the olive, the oak, and the stone pine. 
Of Cannes, it is said: “She is the daughter of the Sirens,
and sprang into existence one morning under the glowing kisses of
the sun.”  It has had a chequered history, but it is
now merged into the liberty of a gay and prosperous town of
thirty-five thousand inhabitants.

Over twenty thousand visitors come to Cannes for the winter to
escape the northern fogs and frosts.  Mr. Green and I
strolled the Promenade and talked over olden times.  The
ladies enjoyed their tete-a-tete and their shopping expeditions;
so the days slipped quickly away and we must lose our friends,
who go to Marseilles, then by sea to Glasgow.  So again we
say good-bye, expecting, however, to meet again soon in
London.  They leave early for Marseilles in order to catch
their steamer.  We visited Grasse the day after they left
us.  This is about twenty miles from Cannes by rail, and it
lies up in the mountains; it is about one thousand feet above the
sea level, yet it is surrounded by the Alps, at least east and
north.  The town has a population about fifteen thousand,
and is built on the slope of a hill.  It is steep climbing
up from the p.
190station.  Facing the town is a lovely valley or
plain, where they cultivate flowers.  The town is largely
supported by the manufacturing of scent.  There are several
factories; one factory sends away over eleven million francs
worth of scents yearly.  It is a town of great
interest.  It has a fine old Cathedral, also some fairly
good shops.  The streets being on the hillside are not easy
to walk along.  Our stay was only for a few hours, but long
enough to satisfy us; the place was health-giving and very
interesting.  On arriving at our hotel in Cannes we were
tired; so after the usual table-de-hote and rest, we went to bed
early, as the following morning we were to pack up and go. 
After the usual tips, bill settling, etc., we left Cannes and its
many attractions, and as we rounded the bay we could see the town
for miles with its white hotels, etc., amidst the luxuriant palm
trees.  We soon lost sight of the town and were spinning
over deep ravines with rugged sides; there with jutting spurs of
rock; here the sea pushing up in inlets and creeks, sparkling in
the rays of the southern sun.  Our train hurried us away
from scenes of such perfect loveliness, p. 191past
Toulon, and about 7.30 we reached Marseilles.  Here we met
again Mrs. Martin and her friend Mrs. Giles.  We only stayed
here about half-an-hour, but we began to feel the change in the
atmosphere, and our rugs were brought into use, as we were
travelling all night.  About midnight we reached Lyons, and
on looking out we found the snow was falling thick and
fast.  Oh! what a change in a few hundred miles!  The
sunny south was now behind us, and again we must face the biting
frost and snow of winter.

We reached Paris about 11 a.m., and soon found our way to
“Hotel du Nord.”  We spent a night at the
“Magenta Hotel,” where we found friends in Dr.
Mochwyn Hughes and his sister, who were going into
Switzerland.  We decided to “do Paris,” as they
say, in a motor.  So we engaged one and were quickly through
some of the busy streets of this wonderful city.  We visited
Notre Dame, of course, and went inside.  There was a funeral
cortege, and the mourners sitting by the bier; while the priests,
with their incantations, mummeries and ceremonies, and
genuflections, just by.  We felt how little was the comfort
to be had here p.
192for the grief stricken relatives.  From here we
passed the great Eiffel Tower, the Bourse, the Louvre, the
Tuileries, the Champs Elysees, the Bois de Boulogne, and the New
Opera House.  The Pont Neuf or the New Bridge over the
Seine.  Then to the tomb where lies all that remains of the
great Napoleon.  Here, with uncovered heads, we gazed into
the grand mausoleum, and were constrained to moralize on the
vanity of human ambition; and of how short-lived and
unsatisfactory all worldly wealth, pomp and pleasure.  We
passed the Pantheon and several places of great interest, but
time flies and we must away from Paris.  My wife, however,
had become quite friendly and even affectionate with Miss Hughes,
so at parting there was the usual promise of postcards,
etc.  We spent a little time with Mrs. Martin and her French
friend, then to the railway, and in a few hours ride we found
ourselves once again in Calais.  We were not long in finding
our way to the boat, our travels had made us quite experts in
getting from boat to train and from train to boat.  My
little wife had to go below; Mrs. Martin, who travelled with us,
bravely stood it.  p. 193However, we faced the sea bravely
because we knew that beyond it lay our home and loved ones
anticipating our home-coming.  I spent my time on deck, and
really got a good blow from the briny.  We landed at Dover
safe and well; and, after a very little time, we were on the
train, bound for the great city of London.  It was dark as
we travelled through the country, so we could not see the places
of interest.  We were glad to reach the “Manchester
Hotel,” our home from home.  The Manager, Mr.
Hanscomb, received us with a warm welcome; and soon we felt we
were amongst English people and could again enjoy an English meal
in the English fashion.  Only a night in the city and again
we are entrained for Nottingham.  We had travelled now
nearly two thousand five hundred miles.  Oh! the
anticipation!  The slowness of the train, as we thought;
though it was a fast train.  We, however, reached Home,
sweet Home, safely and well, after many strange experiences; and
Oh! what a Welcome! from my precious daughter, Ivy, and son
Gordon, and dear Auntie; then our dearest baby boy, with his
smiles and his dimples; and oh! what p. 194a hug!  Welcome home, was
apparent even from the servants, and we thought there is much
truth in Leonard Cooke’s poetry:

“We have basked in the far off Eastern
Sun,
’Neath skies of unchanging gold;
Held by the spell of the Orient
With its mystery and charm untold.

But, Oh! to the heart that is English,
There is nought in a distant clime
As fair as a field in England
Decked out in the summer time.

There is joy in the white faced daisy,
No country afar can excel;
There’s a charm that out rivals the orchids
In the tints of the pimpernel.

There’s a scent in the fields of England
Rich spices can ne’er surpass,
A pang to the heart of the exile;
’Tis the scent of the cool green grass.”

[FINIS].