MILAN
We have a vast and splendid apartment at the Hôtel de la Ville with a
lovely ceiling, mostly angels and smiling cherubs floating about in the
clouds, and a floor paved with marble. We passed a restless night; it was
so hot, and the mosquitoes were such a nuisance! The roar of the street
came to us, and till sunrise belated passers-by sang jolly songs at the
top of their voices. The next day we took another room which looked into
a quieter street. Even during the night the heat is intolerable, and I
have to fan myself vehemently instead of falling asleep. We remained
indoors the whole afternoon. From within came the sound of a piano. In
this artistic city the air seems full of music, which is here as common
as speech. There is nothing but singing from morning till night. We went
down to dinner at table d’hôte. A queer company was dining at the next
table: two extra-smart Brazilians and a young person of small virtue,
with a thick paint on her face and a very loud voice. She seemed on easy
terms with her cavaliers, who were on close attendance on her. They
all looked as pleased as possible with each other and exchanged loving
glances quite openly. The Brazilians made known to their lady-love, who
was a Frenchwoman, in broken French, that they had been hunting all over
the town for her, and as her address was unknown to them, they had to
apply even to the police!
Immediately after dinner we went out for a drive. Milan is a very
fine city. Our guide pointed out all the places of interest. The
cathedral attracted our especial attention; it is a perfect lace-work
of carving, all in white marble, marked, alas, by merciless age. We saw
the _Castelli_, an immense open circus, which can hold thirty thousand
spectators. Reviews of troops and public entertainments take place in it.
In about half-an-hour the _Castelli_ can be filled with water; it serves
in winter as a skating rink, and in summer nautical fetes are organised
there. We walked through the _Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele_, the largest
arcade in the world, which has the form of a Latin cross, and contains a
great number of shops, restaurants and cafés, with little tables all over
it, and people sitting at them eating, drinking. The arcade is roofed
over with glass, and illuminated by two thousand gas-jets, which can be
lighted in one moment by the aid of small automatic engines. At nightfall
the streets of Milan are filled with flirting couples, sitting in dark
corners, the women’s heads on their gallants’ shoulders; what they say
to each other was not hard to guess. The masculine population is not to
be pitied here, for the women, for the greater part, are very pretty
creatures, wearing on their heads black lace mantillas like Spanish
ladies. They don’t look as if they felt the awful heat at all, the lucky
creatures, whilst I am painfully hot and red. At every crossing we saw
policemen dressed in long black coats and top-hats, holding great sticks
and looking like funeral attendants. On our way back to the hotel we
heard a funeral chant, and next moment appeared a procession of monks,
their faces covered and only their eyes seen, and their hands hidden in
their full sleeves, walking two and two.
The following day at dinner we saw again the French _cocotte_ and her
bronzed cavaliers, who this time appeared insensible to her charms, their
temperature having fallen to below zero. Her fickle lovers had only
monosyllables at her disposal. They took no notice of her and ate their
dinner.
The principal theatres of Milan are closed in summer, except the “Dal
Verme,” where we went to see a new play. The theatre is awfully dirty,
the curtain all in holes and the chair-backs wear the trace of the
spectators’ feet. The performers were all second-rate and the play rather
boring.
This night again we were roasted alive. It is impossible to remain longer
in this furnace, and we decided to go on to the Italian Lakes to look
out for a comfortable boarding-house where I could put up during the
manœuvres. The morning, as if on purpose, was comparatively fresh, the
sky overclouded and the rain coming on; still we did not put off our
journey and took the first train to Como. This town, with its Gothic
cathedral, is very pretty. It is situated on Lake Como and surrounded
by verdant mountains. Immediately on arriving, we took a carriage
to Cernobbio, a little place where you take the boat to Bellaggio.
The trip only occupies twenty minutes. Our driver pulled up at the
entrance door of “Villa D’Este,” a beautiful old palace transformed
into a large palatial hotel, standing in a garden of orange and lemon
trees. The house had once been the residence of Napoleon Bonaparte.
The dining-room is decorated with rich tapestries incrusted with the
letter “N” in gold, surmounted by the Imperial crown. In the library
we saw a large veiled figure, the statue of “Love and Psychè,” covered
with gauze in order not to shock the prude spinster ladies of blameless
morals dwelling in the hotel. After a hasty luncheon, we came out upon
the beach, and I sat down to wait for the boat. I was that day in one
of my nasty moods, in the humour to pick a quarrel with anyone, and
Sergy’s imperturbable good-temper was a source of greater irritation
to me. Poking an inoffensive pebble viciously with my umbrella, I said
some detestable things to Sergy and was altogether horrid. Fearing lest
I should say too much, I made myself the solemn vow not to pronounce
one single word until I went to bed that night. And there we sat, side
by side, with faces apart, in gloomy silence, when suddenly the idea
struck Sergy to establish me at Cernobbio, whilst he would attend the
manœuvres. He sat thinking for a while, then rose and strolled down by
himself, investigating the neighbourhood to try and find some hotel where
he wanted me to spend about three weeks. He soon came back to tell me
that he had found out a nice boarding-house kept by a German lady, Frau
Weidemann, just opposite the landing place. Being tongue-tied I could
only nod approval, meaning “Yes, it suits me exactly.” In the meanwhile
our boat approached and took us to Bellaggio, where we had dinner at
the Hôtel Grande Bretagne. It was a depressing meal, during which I
maintained an absolute silence. After a stroll in the splendid park,
which surrounded the hotel, the boat took us to Lecco, where we arrived
too late to catch the evening train for Milan, and had to put up for the
night at the modest little hotel bearing the name of “Zwei Thore.” The
hostess ushered us into a room with a pointed ceiling and an enormously
high bedstead. How pleasant it was to get rid of my vow of silence, which
was becoming unbearable; for a whole day I had kept my lips sealed,
although my anger had sensibly evaporated. When the hostess left us we
became reconciled upon the spot, and all was right again.
Next morning we were back at Milan, and went to visit the “Campo Santo.”
This vast cemetery is a veritable museum. We wandered about, looking
at the tombstones, reading names and epitaphs. I noticed a great many
beautiful monuments, including those of some fearless people who gave
themselves monuments and erected shrines during their lifetime. We
admired the mausoleum of Mario, the celebrated tenor, which is surmounted
by his bust, with his favourite “cavatina” incrusted on a metal plate.
The poor folk are buried in a remote corner of the cemetery; their tombs
are all level, with black crosses and the number of the tomb painted on
white labels. After the lapse of ten years all the bones are gathered
together in heaps, in large boxes, and placed in the charnel-house. When
we approached the Crematory Temple, we saw smoke coming out from the
chimneys, and were told that the corpse of an Austrian engineer was being
consumed at that moment. This dismal procedure generally takes about an
hour-and-a-half, and costs fifty francs. When we entered the Crematory I
felt somewhat frightened, and the odour was so sickening that I thought I
must faint, and felt sorely in want of smelling-salts, but the guardian’s
pretty daughter seemed to feel quite at her ease in that ghastly kitchen,
and ate her luncheon with great appetite. I hadn’t the courage to peep
into the Crematory furnace, but Sergy perceived the corner of the huge
frying-pan upon which broiled the corpse of the Austrian engineer. His
wife and children, who were present at this awful ceremony, didn’t
appear much impressed by it, and chattered on gaily all the time. It had
been too much for my nerves, and when we were back at the hotel I went
straight to bed and had a good cry.