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 the 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 a 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.”
[Picture: Milan Cathedral, Milan]
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, and 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 building 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 stall. 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 hastened 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 four 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 as 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 thousand 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 pack 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
respects 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 knotted 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.