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_OLD
CONTINENTAL
TOWNS_
[Illustration]
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[Illustration: ROUEN, 1822.
A STREET SHOWING THE TOWER OF THE CATHEDRAL.]
OLD CONTINENTAL
TOWNS
BY
WALTER M. GALLICHAN
_Author of
"The Story of Seville," "Fishing and Travel
in Spain," "Cheshire," etc._
[Illustration]
LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE
CLIFFORD'S INN
CONTENTS
PAGE
ROME 1
ASSISI 21
VENICE 30
PERUGIA 52
FLORENCE 57
VERONA 72
SEVILLE 79
CORDOVA 97
TOLEDO 120
GRANADA 135
OPORTO 152
POITIERS 164
ROUEN 170
CHARTRES 179
RHEIMS 186
BRUGES 192
GHENT 201
ANTWERP 211
AMSTERDAM 220
COLOGNE 229
HEIDELBERG 236
NUREMBERG 241
WITTENBERG 249
PRAGUE 259
ATHENS 266
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Rouen. A Street showing the Tower
of the Cathedral, 1822 _Frontispiece_
Rome. The Bridge and Castle of St
Angelo, 1831 _To face page_ 2
Venice. The Grand Canal, 1831 " 30
Florence. Ponte Santa Trinita, 1832 " 58
Verona. 1830 " 72
Seville. Plaza Real and Procession of
the Corpus Christi, 1836 " 80
Cordova. The Prison of the Inquisition,
1836 " 98
Toledo. 1837 " 120
Oporto. From the Quay of Villa Nova,
1832 " 152
Poitiers. The Church of Notre Dame,
1845 " 164
Ghent. 1832 " 202
Antwerp. The Cathedral, 1832 " 212
Cologne. St Martin's Church, 1826 " 230
Nuremberg. 1832 " 242
Prague. The City and Bridge, 1832 " 260
Athens. A supposed appearance if restored,
1824 " 266
OLD CONTINENTAL TOWNS
ROME
The story of Rome is a mighty chronicle of such deep importance towards
an understanding of the growth of Europe, that a feeling almost of
helplessness assails me as I essay to set down in this limited space an
account of the city's ancient grandeur and of its monuments. It is with
a sense of awe that one enters Rome. The scene gives birth to so much
reflection, the pulse quickens, the imagination is stirred by the annals
of Pompey and Cæsar, and the mighty names that resound in the history of
the wonderful capital; while the ruins of the days of power and pomp are
as solemn tokens of the fate of all great civilisations.
The surroundings of Rome, the vast silent Campagna, that rolling tract
of wild country, may be likened to an upland district of Wales. Here are
scattered relics of the resplendent days, in a desert where the sirocco
breathes hotly; where flocks of sheep and goats wander, and foxes prowl
close to the ancient gates. Eastward stand the great natural ramparts of
purple mountains, whence the Tiber rolls swiftly, and washing Rome,
winds on through lonely valleys.
Dim are the early records of the city. Myth and legend long passed as
history in the chronicles of the founding of Rome. We learn now from the
etymologists and modern historians that the name of Rome was not derived
from Roma, the mother of Romulus, nor from _ruma_, but, according to
Niebuhr, from the Greek _rhoma_, signifying strength; while Michelet
tells us that city was called after the River Rumo, the ancient name of
the Tiber.
[Illustration: ROME, 1831.
THE BRIDGE AND CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO.]
Romulus, the legendary founder, was supposed to have lived B.C. 752. The
growth of the community on the Seven Hills began, according to the old
annalists, with a settlement of shepherds. We are told that after the
death of Romulus, the first king, the city was ruled by Numa Pompilius.
This sovereign instituted nine guilds of industry, and united the mixed
population. Tarquinius Superbus, the despotic king, reigned with
fanatical religious austerity, and after his banishment Rome became a
republic.
The first system of rule was sacerdotal, the second aristocratic, and
the third a state of liberty for the plebeians. Then came the Gauls who
burned the city to the ground and harried the whole country. Hannibal
and Scipio arose, and we enter upon the period of the great Punic Wars,
followed by the stirring epoch of Cæsar and Pompey.
How shall we separate myth and simple tradition from the veracious
chronicles of the Roman people? What were the causes of the downfall of
their proud city, and the decadence of the great race that invaded all
quarters of Europe? These are the questions which fill the mind as we
wander to-day in Rome. We are reminded of the menace of wealth, the
insecurity of prosperity, and the devastating influence of militarism
and the lust of conquest. We meditate, too, on the spirit of persecution
that flourished here, the love of ferocity, and the cruelty that
characterised the recreations of the city under the emperors.
With all its eminence in art and industry, in spite of its high
distinction in the science of warfare, and its elaborate jurisprudence
and codes, Rome, at one time terrorised by Nero, at another humanely
governed by Aurelius, was in its last state a melancholy symbol of
decrepitude and failure. The final stage of degradation was worse than
the primitive period of barbarism and superstition.
In the Middle Ages, at the time when most of the wealth went to the
Popes of Avignon, the city had fallen into pitiful decay. The majestic
St Peter's was threatened by destruction through lack of repair; the
Capitol was described as on a level with "a town of cowherds."
The monarchy of Rome is said to have endured for about two hundred and
forty years. The city extended then over a wide area, and was protected
by walls and towers. The Coliseum, the Pantheon, and the Forum were
built as Rome grew in might and magnificence, and the Roman style of
architecture became a model for the world. Happily these structures have
survived. The Rome of pagan days and the Rome of the Renaissance are
mingled here strangely, and the pomp and affluence of former times
contrasts with the poverty of to-day that meets us in the streets.
Note the faces of the people; here are features stern and regular,
recalling often old prints of the Romans of history. The dress of the
poorer women is ancient, while that of the upper classes is as modern as
the costumes of Paris, Berlin, or London. On days of fête it is
interesting to watch these people at play, all animated with a southern
gaiety which the northerner may envy. The life of Rome is outdoor; folk
loiter and congregate in the streets; there is much traffic of vehicles
used for pleasure. Over the city stretches "the Italian sky," ardently
blue--the sky that we know from paintings before we have visited
Rome--and upon the white buildings shines a hot sun from which we shrink
in midsummer noons.
It is hard to decide which appeals to us the more strongly in Rome--the
relics of Cæsar's empire or the art of the Middle Ages. The Coliseum
brings to mind "the grandeur that was Rome," in the days of the pagan
majesty, while St Peter's, with its wealth of gorgeous decoration and
great paintings, reminds us of the supreme power of the city under the
popes.
In the Coliseum there is social history written in stone. We look upon
the tiers rising one above the other, and picture them in all the
splendour of a day of cruel carnival. We may see traces of the lifts
that brought the beasts to the arena from the dens below.
_Ad leones!_ The trumpet blares, and a victim of the heretical creed is
led into the amphitheatre to encounter the lions. How often has this
soil been drenched in blood. How often have the walls echoed with the
plaudits of the Roman populace, gloating upon a spectacle of torture, or
aroused to ecstasy by the combats of gladiators.
Silence broods in the arena, and in every interstice the maidenhair fern
grows rife among the decaying stones. The glory has departed, but the
shell of the Flavian amphitheatre remains as a monument of Rome's
imperial days. Here were held the chariot races, the competitions of
athletes, the tournaments on horseback, the baiting of savage brutes,
the wrestling bouts, throwing the spear, and the fights of martyrs with
animals. Luxury and cruelty rioted here on Roman holidays.
For a comprehensive view of the Coliseum, you should climb the Palatine
Hill. The hundreds of arches and windows admit the sunlight, and the
building glows, "a monstrous mountain of stone," as Michelet describes
it. Tons of the masonry have been removed by vandals. The fountain in
which the combatants washed their wounds remains, and the walls of the
circus rise to a height of a hundred-and-fifty-seven feet. In yonder
"monument of murder" there died ten thousand victims in a hundred days
during the reign of Trajan.
The triumph of Christianity is symbolised in St Peter's. An impartial
chronicler cannot close his eyes to the truth written in the great
cathedral. Both pagans and Christians persecuted in turn to the glory of
their deities. Force was worshipped alike by emperor and pope. Pagans
tortured martyrs in the arena; the Christians burned them in the square.
In 1600 Giordano Bruno was tied to the stake, and consumed in the
flames, by decree of the Church, after two years of imprisonment. His
offence was the writing of treatises attempting to prove that the earth
is not flat, and that God is "the All in All." He also dared to opine
that there may be other inhabited worlds besides our own. Bruno's last
words have echoed through the ages: "Perhaps it is with greater fear
that you pass the sentence upon me than I receive it."
Under Innocent IV. the Inquisition was established as a special tribunal
against heretics. Men of science soon came under its penalties.
Copernicus was a teacher of mathematics in Rome, when he conceived his
theory, "The Revolutions of the Heavenly Bodies," which he dedicated to
Pope Paul. Fearing the awful penalties of the Holy Office, he withheld
publication of the work for many years, only seeing a copy of the
printed volume in his last hours. The book was condemned by the
Inquisition and placed on the index.
About a century later, Galileo wrote his "System of the World," an
exposition and defence of the theories of Copernicus. The Inquisition
dragged him before its tribunal at Rome, where he was charged with
heresy and compelled to recant or die. We know that he chose
recantation, or the fate of Bruno would have been his. For ten years
Galileo pined in the dungeon, and his body was flung into a dishonoured
grave.
Not a man in Rome was safe from the Inquisition. Its courts travestied
justice; its terrified witnesses lied, and the accusers were
intimidated. Suspicion alone was sufficient to compel arrest and trial,
and there was no possible appeal, and no hope of pity or leniency. The
Church urged that while unbelief existed, the Inquisition was a
necessity, and the chief means of stamping out heretical doctrine. And
yet, a few years ago, an International Free-thought Congress was held
under the shadow of St Peter's. How truly, "it moves!"
The Renaissance, with its mighty intellectual impetus, its reverence for
the arts and culture, and its resistance against the absolutism of the
Papacy came as the salvation of Rome from the terrors and the stagnation
of the dark days.
The birth of Michael Angelo, in 1474, came with a new era of
enlightenment. Angelo, painter, sculptor, poet, and philosopher, was
commissioned by Pope Julius II. to carve a great work in Rome, and to
adorn the Sistine Chapel with frescoes. Three years were spent on these
superb paintings. This is the most wonderful ceiling painting in the
world. In the centre are pictures of scenes of the Creation and Fall; in
compartments are the prophets, and other portions represent the
ancestors of the Virgin Mary and historical characters.
The figures are colossal, and wonderful in their anatomy, revealing the
artist's richness of imagination, as well as his unsurpassed technical
skill. To see to advantage the frescoes of the roof, it is necessary to
lie flat on the back, and gaze upwards. The human figure is superbly
imaged in "The Temptation, Fall and Expulsion." The largest figures in
the whole composition are among the prophets and sibyls.
"Here, at last, here indeed for the first time," writes Mr Arthur
Symons, in his "Cities," "is all that can be meant by sublimity; a
sublimity which attains its pre-eminence through no sacrifice of other
qualities; a sublimity which (let us say it frankly) is amusing. I find
the magnificent and extreme life of these figures as touching, intimate,
and direct in its appeal, as the most vivid and gracious realism of any
easel picture."
The vast picture of "The Last Judgment," on the wall of the Sistine
Chapel, was painted by Michael Angelo when he was growing old. The work
occupied about seven years. It is full of figures in every kind of
action, and most of them are nude. Their nakedness affronted Paul IV.,
who commanded Da Volterra, a pupil of Angelo, to paint clothing on some
of the forms, thus marring the beauty of the work.
In the Pauline Chapel of the Vatican are two mural paintings by Michael
Angelo, "The Crucifixion of St Peter," and "The Conversion of St Paul."
"I could only see and wonder," writes Goethe, referring to the works of
Angelo in a letter from Rome. The mental confidence and boldness of the
master, and his grandeur of conception, are beyond all expression.
Sir Joshua Reynolds spent some time in Rome, in 1750, and recorded the
result of his study of the work of Raphael and Michael Angelo. It was in
the cold chambers of the Vatican that Reynolds caught the chill which
brought about his deafness. He made many copies of parts of the
paintings of Angelo. "The Adonis" of Titian in the Colonna Palace, the
"Leda," by Coreggio, and the works of Raphael, were closely studied by
the English painter. Before he left Rome he declared that the art of
Angelo represented the highest perfection.
Many critics affirm that St Peter's is somewhat disappointing,
architecturally considered, while some critics maintain that it is one
of the finest churches in the world. The colonnades, with their gallery
of sculptured images, are stately and impressive. It is the huge façade
that disappoints. Nevertheless, St Peter's is a stupendous temple, with
a dignity and majesty of its own. The interior is garish; we miss the
dim religious light and the atmosphere of sober piety so manifest in
the cathedrals of Spain. As a repository of masterpieces St Peter's is
world-famous. Here is "The Virgin and Dead Christ," the finest of
Michael Angelo's early statues.
Angelo spent various periods in Rome, after his first stay of five
years. He was in the city at the age of sixty, and much of his work was
executed when he was growing old. It was in the evening of his days that
he became the close friend of Vittoria Colonna, the inspirer of his
poetry, and after her death, in 1547, he entered upon a spell of
ill-health and sadness. But his activities were marvellous, even in old
age. In 1564 he planned the Farnese Palace for Paul III., and directed
the building of the Church of Santa Maria.
Immensity is the chief impression of the interior of St Peter's. Even
the figures of cherubs are gigantic. The great nave with its marble
pavement and huge pillars, is long-drawn from the portal to the altar,
and the space within the great dome is bewildering in its vastness.
The bronze statue of St Peter, whose foot is kissed yearly by thousands
of devotees, is noted here among the numerous images. At the altar we
shall see Canova's statue of Pius VI., the chair of St Peter, and tombs
of the Popes Urban and Paul.
Michael Angelo designed the beautiful Capello Gregoriana. His lovely
"Pieta" is the Cappella della Pieta, and this is the most splendid work
within the building. Tombs of popes are seen in the various chapels. In
the resplendent choir chapel is Thorvaldsen's statue of Pius VII.
The Vatican is a great museum of statuary, the finest collection in
existence to-day. On the site of the building once stood a Roman
emperor's palace, which was reconstructed as a residence for Pope
Innocent III. Besides the statues in the Vatican and the cathedral,
there are many remarkable works of sculpture in the Villa Albani and the
Capitoline. In the Capitoline Museum are, the "Dying Gladiator," the
"Resting Faun," and the "Venus."
Days may be spent in inspecting the minor churches of Rome. Perhaps the
most interesting is San Giovanni Laterano, built on the site of a Roman
imperial palace, and dating from the fourteenth century. The front is by
Galileo, very highly decorated. Within, the chapels of the double aisles
are especially interesting for their lavish embellishment. The apse is
a very old part of the structure, and the Gothic cloister has grace and
dignity, with most admirable carved columns. It is a debated question
whether the ceiling of this church was painted by Michael Angelo or
Della Porta.
The Lateran Palace, close to San Giovanni, has a small decorated chapel
at the head of a sacred staircase, said to have been trodden by Christ
when he appeared before Pilate, and brought here from Jerusalem.
The Churches of San Clemente, Santi Giovanni Paolo, Santa Maria in Ara
Coeli are among the other churches of note.
The memorials of pagan and Christian times stand side by side in Rome,
and in roaming the city it is difficult to direct one's steps on a
formal plan. Turning away from an arch or a temple of Roman origin, you
note a Renaissance church, and are tempted to enter it. If I fail to
point out here many buildings which the visitor should see, it is
because the number is so great.
The part of the city between the Regia and the Palatine Hill is very
rich in antiquities. It is said that Michael Angelo carried away a great
mass of stone from the Temple of Vesta to build a part of St Peter's;
but I do not know upon what authority this is stated. A few blocks of
stone are, however, all that remain of the buildings sacred to the
vestals.
The tall columns seen as we walk to the Palatine Hill, are relics of the
temple of Castor and Pollux. Behind the Regia is the temple of Julius
Cæsar, built by Augustus; and here Mark Antony delivered his splendid
oration. Near to this temple is the Forum, with traces of basilicas, and
a few standing columns. The whole way to the Capitoline abounds in
ancient stones of rich historical interest. Here are the walls of the
Plutei, with reliefs representing the life of Trajan, the grand arch of
Septimus Severus, the columns of the Temple of Saturn.
The Palatine Hill is crowned with the ruins of the Palace of the Cæsars.
Mural decorations still remain on the walls of an apartment. Here will
be seen relics of a school, a temple dedicated to Jupiter, and portions
of the famous wall of the mythical Romulus. These are but a few of the
antiquities of the Palatine, whence the eye surveys Rome and the rolling
Campagna.
In the quarter of the Coliseum are ancient baths, once sumptuously
fitted and adorned with images, now removed to the museum of the city.
Trajan's Column towers here to about one hundred-and-fifty feet. Then
there is the Pantheon, a classic building wonderfully preserved. All
these are but a few of the ancient edifices of Rome.
Among the more important museums and picture galleries are the splendid
Vatican, at which we have glanced, the Capitol Museum, the Palazzo del
Senatore, with works by Velazquez, Van Dyck, Titian, and other masters,
the National Museum, the Villa Borghese, the Dorian Palace, and the
Kircheriano.
The art annals of the Rome of Christian times are of supreme interest.
The greatest of the painters who came to study in Rome was Velazquez,
who was offered the hospitality of Cardinal Barberini in the Vatican. He
stayed, however, in a quieter lodging, at the Villa Medici, and
afterwards in the house of the Spanish ambassador. Velazquez paid a
second visit to Rome in 1649, where he met Poussin, and Salvator Rosa.
To Rosa he remarked, "It is Titian that bears the palm."
The Spanish painter was made a member of the Roman Academy; and at this
time he painted the portrait of Innocent X., which occupies a position
of honour in the Dorian Palace. Reynolds described this as "the finest
piece of portrait-painting in Rome." Velazquez' portrait of himself is
in the Capitoline Museum in the city.
The art records of Rome are so many that I cannot attempt to refer to
more than a small number of them. Literary associations, too, crowd into
the mind as we walk the lava-paved streets of the glowing capital.
Goethe sojourned long in Rome, and wrote many pages of his impressions.
In 1787 he writes of the amazing loveliness of a walk through the
historic streets by moonlight, of the solemnity of the Coliseum by
night, and the grandeur of the portico of St Peter's. He praises the
climate in spring, the delight of long sunny days, with noons "almost
too warm"; and the sky "like a bright blue taffeta in the sunshine." In
the Capitoline Museum he admired the nude "Venus" as one of the finest
statues in Rome. "My imagination, my memory," he writes, "is storing
itself full with endlessly beautiful subjects.... I am in the land of
the arts."
Full of rapture are the letters of Shelley from Rome: "Since I last
wrote to you," he says to Peacock, "I have seen the ruins of Rome, the
Vatican, St Peter's, and all the miracles of ancient and modern art
contained in that majestic city. The impression of it exceeds anything I
have ever experienced in my travels.... We visited the Forum, and the
ruins of the Coliseum every day. The Coliseum is unlike any work of
human hands I ever saw before. It is of enormous height and circuit, and
the arches, built of massy stones, are piled on one another, and jut
into the blue air, shattered into the forms of overhanging rocks."
Shelley was entranced by the arch of Constantine. "It is exquisitely
beautiful and perfect." In March 1819, he writes: "Come to Rome. It is a
scene by which expression is overpowered, which words cannot convey."
The Cathedral scarcely appealed to Shelley; he thought it inferior
externally to St Paul's, though he admired the façade and colonnade.
More satisfying to the poet's æsthetic taste was the Pantheon, with its
handsome fluted columns of yellow marble, and the beauty of the
proportions in the structure.
The Pantheon is generally admitted to be the most noble of the ancient
edifices of the city. It was erected by Agrippa 27 B.C., and sumptuously
adorned with fine marbles. The dome is vast and nobly planned, and the
building truly merits Shelley's designation, "sublime."
Keats was buried in the Protestant cemetery in Rome, in a tomb bearing
the inscription: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." His loyal
and admiring friend, Shelley, wrote a truer memorial of the young poet:
"Go thou to Rome--at once the paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise,
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
The bones of desolation's nakedness
Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access,
Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread."
In 1850 Robert Browning and his wife were in Rome, and it was then that
Browning wrote the beautiful love poem, "Two in the Campagna," telling
of the joy of roaming in:
"The champaign with its endless fleece
Of feathery grasses everywhere!
Silence and passion, joy and peace
An everlasting wash of air----"
Poets and painters have through the centuries drawn inspiration from
this wondrous city of splendid monuments and ancient grandeur. How true
was Goethe's statement that wherever you turn in Rome there is an object
of beauty and arresting interest.
The appeal of the city is strong, the variety bewildering, whether you
elect to muse upon the remains of the imperial days, or to study the
Renaissance art of the Christian churches. It is well, if possible, to
make a survey of the antiquities in chronological order, beginning with
an inspection of the ruins of the Romulean wall and the traces of the
oldest gates. Then the Forum should be visited in its valley, and the
art of the temple of Saturn, the Basilica Julia, and the Arch of Fabius
examined. The Temple of Vespasian, the Palace of Caligula, Trajan's
Column, and the numerous arches will all arouse memories of the emperors
and the splendid purple days.
The Campagna is not only a wilderness, but it is rich in historic
memories. Here lived the cultured Cynthia, the friend of Catullus, the
poet, and of Quintilius Varus. Numerous villas dotted the Campagna in
the days of the emperors, and here, during the summer heats, retired
many of the wealthy citizens of Rome. Valuable antiquities, vases, urns,
and figures, have been unearthed from this classic soil.
ASSISI
"There was a man in the city of Assisi, by name Francis, whose memory is
blessed, for that God, graciously presenting him with blessings of
goodness, delivered him in His mercy from the perils of this present
life, and abundantly filled him with the gifts of heavenly grace."
So speaks Saint Bonaventura of the noble character of the holy man of
Assisi, whose figure arises before us as we tread the streets of the
town of his birth. For Assisi is a place of pilgrimage, filled with
fragrant memories of that saint of whom even the heterodox speak with
loving reverence. St Francis stands distinct in an age of fanatic
religious zeal, as an example of tolerance, a lover of mercy, and a
practical follower of the teaching of Christian benevolence.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century, Pope Innocent III. offered
indulgences to the faithful who would unite in a crusade against the
Albigensian heretics of Languedoc. For twenty years blood was shed
plentifully in this war upon heresy; for twenty years the hounds of
persecution were let loose on the hated enemies of papal absolutism.
"Kill all; God will know," was the answer of the Pope's legate during
this massacre, when asked by the crusaders how they could recognise the
heretics. While Languedoc and Provence were ravaged by the truculent
persecutors, and fires were lighted to burn the bodies of men, women and
children, St Francis lived in Assisi, preaching humanity and good will.
There is no testimony that he protested expressly against the
Albigensian crusades; but we know from his life and his writings that he
detested cruelty and violence, and never directly counselled
persecution.
In "The Golden Legend" we read that "Francis, servant and friend of
Almighty God, was born in the city of Assisi, and was made a merchant in
the twenty-fifth year of his age, and wasted his time by living vainly,
whom our Lord corrected by the scourge of sickness, and suddenly changed
him into another man, so that he began to shine by the spirit of
prophecy."
Putting on the rags of a beggar, St Francis went to Rome, where he sat
among the mendicants before St Peter's. Then began the miraculous cures
of lepers whose hands he kissed, and his many works of charity and
healing. He extolled "holy poverty," and called poverty his "lady." When
he saw a worm lying on the path, the compassionate saint removed it, so
that it should not be trodden on by passers-by. The birds he called his
brothers and sisters; he fed them, bade them sing or keep silence, and
they obeyed him. All birds and beasts loved him; and he taught the birds
to sing praises to their creator. St Francis was perhaps the first
eminent Christian who showed pity and love for the lower animals. In the
morass of Venice, he came upon a great company of singing-birds, and
entering among them, caused them to sing lauds to the Almighty.
St Francis taught asceticism to his followers, but it was the asceticism
of joy rather than of grief and pain. The saint had in him the qualities
of poet and artist as well as of pious mystic. He lived for a time the
life of the luxurious, and found it profitless and hollow; he passed
through the ordeal of the temptations that beset a young man born of
wealthy parents.
"The more thou art assailed by temptations, the more do I love thee,"
said the blessed St Francis to his friend Leo. "Verily I say unto thee
that no man should deem himself a true friend of God, save in so far as
he hath passed through many temptations and tribulations."
Flung into the prison of Perugia, he rejoiced and sang, and when the
vulgar threw dirt upon him and his friars, he did not resent their
rudeness.
Trudging bare-footed through Umbria, scantily clothed, and subsisting
upon crusts offered by the charitable, St Francis set an example of the
holiness of poverty which impressed the peasants and excited their
veneration for the preacher and his gospel.
He worked as a mason, repairing the decayed Church of St Damian, and
preached a doctrine of labour and industry, forsaking all that he had so
that he might reap the ample harvest of Divine blessing. In winter the
saint would plunge into a ditch of snow, that he might check the
promptings of carnal desire. He refused to live under a roof at Assisi,
preferring a mere shelter of boughs, with the company of Brother Giles
and Brother Bernard. A cell of wood was too sumptuous for him.
As St Francis grew in holiness there appeared in him the stigmata of
Christ's martyrdom. In his side there was the wound of the spear; in his
hands and feet were the marks of the nails. St Bonaventura relates that
after his death, the flesh of the saint was so soft that he seemed to
have become a child again, and that the wound in the side was like a
lovely rose.
He died, according to this historian, in 1226, on the fourth day of
October. His remains were interred in Assisi, and afterwards removed to
"the Church built in his honour," in 1230.
After the canonisation of the holy St Francis many miracles happened in
Italy. In the church of his name in Assisi, when the Bishop of Ostia was
preaching, a huge stone fell on the head of a devout woman. It was
thought that she was dead, but being before the altar of St Francis, and
having "committed herself in faith" to him, she escaped without any
hurt. Many persons were cured of disease by calling upon the blessed
name of the Saint of Assisi, and mariners were often saved from wrecks
through his intervention.
St Francis lived when the fourth Lateran Council gave a new impetus to
persecution, by increasing the scope and power of the inquisition. This
gentlest of all the saints was surrounded by a host of influences that
made for religious rancour, and yet he preached a doctrine of love, and
was, so far as we can learn, quite untouched by the persecuting zeal
that characterised so many of his sainted contemporaries. It is with
relief, after the contemplation of the cruelty of his age, that we greet
the tattered ascetic of Assisi, as, in imagination, we see him pass up
the steps of the house wherein Brother Bernard was a witness of his
ecstasy.
The little city of Assisi stands on a hill; a mediæval town of a
somewhat stern character meets the eye as we approach it. Outside the
town is a sixteenth-century church, Santa Maria degli Angeli, which will
interest by reason of the Portinucula, a little chapel repaired by St
Francis. It was around this church that the first followers of the saint
lived in hovels with wattled roofs. Here was the garden in which the
holy brother delighted to wander, and to watch his kindred the birds,
and here are the rose bushes without thorns, that grew from the saint's
blood.
Entering Assisi, we soon reach the Church of San Francisco, in which is
the reputed tomb of St Francis. This is not a striking edifice, but its
charm is in the pictures of Giotto. Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience
are the subjects of these frescoes. Ruskin copied the Poverty, and made
a long study of these works. The picture symbolises the Lady of Poverty,
the bride of St Francis, who is given to him by Christ. This is one of
Giotto's chief pictures. Chastity is a young woman in a castle; she is
worshipped by angels, and the walls of the fortress are surrounded by
men in armour. In another fresco St Francis is dressed in canonical
garb, attended by angels, who sing praise to him. It is said that Dante
suggested this subject to Giotto.
The frescoes of Simone, in a chapel of the lower church, are of much
interest to the art student. They are richly coloured and very
decorative, and have been considered by some authorities as equal to the
works of Giotto at Assisi. Simone was a painter of the Sienese School,
and according to Vasari, he was taught by Giotto. His "Annunciation" is
a rich work, preserved in the Uffizi Palace at Florence.
The twenty-eight scenes in the history of St Francis are in the upper
church, and in these we see again Giotto's noblest art in the harmonious
grouping and the fluidity of his colour.
The Cathedral of San Rufino is a handsome church. Here St Francis was
baptised, and in this edifice he preached.
The father of the saint was a woollen merchant, and his shop was in the
Via Portica. The house still stands, and may be recognised by its highly
decorated portal. This was not the birthplace of St Francis, for the
Chiesa Nuova, built in 1615, covers the site of the house.
In the Church of St Clare you are shown the "remains" of Saint Clare, in
a crypt, lying in a glass case.
When Goethe was in Assisi, the building that interested him more than
any other was the Temple of Minerva, built in the time of Augustus.
"At last we reached what is properly the old town, and behold before my
eyes stood the noble edifice, the first complete memorial of antiquity
that I had ever seen.... Looking at the façade, I could not sufficiently
admire the genius-like identity of design which the architects have here
as elsewhere maintained. The order is Corinthian, the inter-columnar
spaces being somewhat above the two modules. The bases of the columns,
and the plinths seem to rest on pedestals, but it is only an
appearance." Goethe concludes his description: "The impression which the
sight of this edifice left upon me is not to be expressed, and will
bring forth imperishable fruits."
VENICE
The very name breathes romance and spells beauty. Poets, artists, and
historians without number have revealed to us the glories of this city.
Dull indeed must be the perception of loveliness of form and colour in
the mind of the man who is not deeply moved by the contemplation of the
Stones of Venice. Yet it seems to me that no city is so difficult to
describe; everything has been said, every scene painted by master hands.
One's impression must read inevitably like that which has been written
over and over again. And in a brief enumeration of the buildings to be
seen by the visitor, how can the unhappy writer avoid the charge of
baldness and inefficiency?
[Illustration: VENICE, 1831.
THE GRAND CANAL.]
Well, then, to say that Venice is supremely beautiful among the towns of
Italy is to set down a commonplace. It is a town in which the
matter-of-fact man realises the meaning of romance and poetry; a town
where the phlegmatic become sentimental, and the poetic are stirred to
ecstasies. George Borrow wept at beholding the beauty of Seville by
the Guadalquivir in the evening light. "Tears of rapture" would have
filled his eyes as he gazed upon the splendours of the Grand Canal.
Some of the many writers upon Venice have found the scene "theatrical";
others assert that the influence of Venice is sad, while others again
declare that the city provokes hilarity of spirits in a magical way.
Whatever the nature of the spell, it is strong, and few escape it.
Ruskin, Byron, the Brownings, and Henry James, are among the souls to
whom Venice has appealed with the force of a personality.
The spirit of Venice has been felt by thousands of travellers. Its
pictures--for every street is a picture--remain deeply graven on the
mind's tablet.
Perhaps there is nothing made by man to float upon the waters more
graceful in its lines than a gondola. To think of Venice, is to recall
these gliding, swan-like, silent craft, that ply upon the innumerable
waterways. Like ghosts by night they steal along in the deep shadows of
the palaces, impelled by boatmen whose every attitude is a study in
lissome grace. To lie in a gondola, while the attendant noiselessly
propels the stately skiff with his pliant oar, is to realise romance
and the perfection of leisurely locomotion.
What can be said of the sunsets, the almost garish colouring of sea and
sky, and the witchery of reflection upon tower and roof? What can be
written for the thousandth time of the resplendent churches, the rich
gilding, the noble façades, the hundred picturesque windings of the
canals between houses, each one of them a subject for the artist's
brush? Is there any other city that grips us in every sense like Venice?
The eyes and the mind grow dazed and bewildered with the beauty and the
colour, till the scene seems almost unreal, a fantasy of the brain under
the influence of a drug.
The student of life and the philosopher will find here matter for
cogitation, tinged maybe with seriousness, even sadness. Venetian
history is not all glorious, and the city to-day has its social evils,
like every other populous place on the globe. There are beggars, many of
them, artistic beggars, no doubt; but they are often diseased and always
unclean. Yet even the dirty faces of the alleys, in this city of
loveliness, have, according to artists, a value and a harmony. There is
the same obvious, sordid poverty here as in London or Manchester. But
the dress of the people, even if ragged, is bright, and the faces, even
though wrinkled and haggard, fit the scene and the setting in the
estimate of the painter.
If your habit is analytic and critical, you will find defects in the
modern life of Venice that cannot be hidden. The city is not prosperous
in our British sense of the word. There is an air of decayed grandeur,
an impression that existence in this town of exquisite art is not
happiness for the swarm of indigents that live in the historic purlieus.
On the other hand, there is the climate, a soft, sleepy climate, not
very healthy perhaps, but usually kindly. The sun is generous, the sky
rarely frowns. Life passes lazily, dreamily, on the oily waters of the
canals, in the piazza, and in those tall tumble-down houses built on
piles. No one appears to hurry about the business of money-getting; no
one apparently is eager to work, except perhaps the unfortunate
mendicants and the persuasive hawkers, who do indeed toil hard at their
occupations.
When the evening breeze bears the interesting malodours of the canals,
with other indescribable and characteristic smells, and the sun sinks
in crimson in a flaming sky, and music sounds from the piazza and the
water, and the gondolas glide and pass, and beautiful women smile and
stroll in streets bathed in gold, you will think only of the loveliness
of Venice, and forget the terrors of its history and the misery of
to-day. And it is well, for one cannot always grapple with the problems
of life; there must be hours of sensuous pleasure. Sensuous seems to me
the right word to convey the influence of Venice upon a summer evening,
when, a little wearied by the heat of the day, you loll upon a bridge,
smoking a cigar, and drinking in languidly the beauty of the scene,
while a grateful breeze comes from the darkening sea.
Go to the Via Garibaldi, if you wish to lounge and to study the
Venetians of "the people." Here the natives come and go and saunter. The
women are small, like the women of Spain, dark in complexion, and in
manner animated. They are very feminine; often they are lovely.
You will be struck with the gaiety of the people, a sheer
lightheartedness more evident and exuberant than the gaiety of Spanish
folk. Perhaps the struggle for existence is less keen than it seems
among the inhabitants of the more lowly quarters of the city. At
anyrate, the Venetians are lovers of song and laughter. A flower
delights a woman, a cigarette is a gift for a man. They are able to
divert themselves in Venice without sport, and with very few places of
amusement.
"The place is as changeable as a nervous woman," writes Mr Henry James,
"and you know it only when you know all the aspects of its beauty. It
has high spirits or low, it is pale or red, grey or pink, cold or warm,
fresh or wan, according to the weather or the hour."
Having given a faint presentment of the beauties of Venice, I will refer
to some of the chief episodes of its great history. In the earliest
years of its making, we are upon insecure ground in attempting to write
accurately upon Venetia. The city probably existed when the Goths swept
down upon Italy, about 420, and it fell a century later into the hands
of the fierce Lombards. Under the Doges (dukes) the land was wrested
here and there from the waves, the mudbanks protected with piles and
fences, and the great buildings began to arise from a foundation of
apparent instability.
The ingenuity of the architect and the builder in constructing this city
is nothing short of marvellous. In the sixth century the town was no
doubt a collection of huts on sandbanks, intersected by tidal streams.
There were meadows and gardens by the verge of the sea, and the
inhabitants made the most of every yard of firm soil. St Mark's
Cathedral was built in the tenth century, to serve as a resting-place
for the bones of the saint.
Under the wise rule of Pietro Tribuno, Venice withstood the attack of a
Hungarian horde. The city was walled in and fortified, and the natives
gathered at Rialto. The resistance was successful. The Doge who saved
the city was one of the most honoured of all the rulers of Venice as a
brave general and a man of scholarly parts.
Genoa and Pisa, formed into a powerful republic, warred with Venice in
the eleventh century; but the Venetians won in the protracted warfare.
Wars in Italy and wars in the East followed, and internal trouble
reigned intermittently in the city.
The discovery of America by Columbus, and the opening up of trade with
Hindustan, affected Venice injuriously. Until then the city had held a
monopoly as a market for the products of the Orient. Her great power
and wealth were imperilled by the discoveries of Columbus, the Genoese
voyager, and by the rounding of Cape Horn by the Portuguese adventurers.
Spain and Portugal were reaping the splendid golden harvest while Venice
was impoverished. Consternation filled the minds of the citizens. The
great Republic had reached the height of its glory in the fifteenth
century, but from the falling off of her commerce she never recovered.
It is curious that in the period of decline, Venice expended much wealth
in works of art, and in the embellishment of the buildings and palaces.
Several of the city's greatest painters flourished at this time.
The Doge's Palace, often burned down, was rebuilt in its present
grandeur. St Mark's was constantly repaired, decorations were added, and
internal parts reconstructed. The palaces of the rich sprang up by the
waterways of this city in the sea.
Printing was already an art and industry in Venice. John of Spires used
movable type, and succeeding him were many distinguished printers, whose
presses supplied the civilised world with books.
A terrible plague devastated the city in 1575. Among the victims were
the great painter, Titian, then nearly a hundred years of age. The
epidemic spread all over Venice.
When Pope Paul V. endeavoured to bring the citizens under his autocratic
rule, they resisted with much firmness. One of the causes of offence was
that the Venetians favoured the principle of toleration in religious
beliefs, and permitted the heretical to worship according to their
consciences. The Pope, after fruitless negotiations, excommunicated
Venice, sending his agents with the documents. With all vigilance, the
government of the city forbade the exposure of any papal decree in the
streets, while the Doge stoutly asserted that the people of Venice
regarded the bull with contempt.
Nearly all Europe sided with Venice in this conflict between Pope and
Doge. England was prepared to ally herself with France, and to assist
Venice. Months passed without developments. Venice remained Catholic,
but refused to become a vassal of the Pope of Rome. Paul was enraged and
humiliated. One cannot admire his action; yet pity for the proud,
sincere, and baffled Pontiff tinges one's view of the struggle. Venice
even refused to request the abolition of the ban. She remained quietly
indifferent to the thunderings of the See, and haughtily criticised the
overtures of reconciliation offered through the French cardinals.
Finally, with dignity and yet a touch of farce, the Senate handed over
to the Pope's emissaries certain offenders, "without prejudice," to be
held by the King of France.
Paolo Sarpi, the priest and born diplomat, was the hero of Venice during
this quarrel with Rome. Sarpi was a man of unassailable virtue and
integrity, a tactful leader of men, and possessed of intrepidity. He
was, not unnaturally, detested by the adherents of the Pope for his
defence of Venetian rights and privileges. One night, crossing a bridge,
Brother Paolo was attacked by ruffians, and stabbed with daggers. The
assailants had been sent from Rome to kill the obnoxious priest. But the
scheme failed, for Paolo Sarpi recovered from his wounds, and the
attempt upon his life endeared him still more deeply to the hearts of
the Venetians.
Some years after he died in his bed, lamented by high and low in the
city. Before the Church of Santa Fosca stands a memorial to this brave
citizen.
The Venice of the eighteenth century was a decaying city, with an
enervated, apathetic population, given to gaming, and improvident in
their lives. Many of the noble families sank into penury. Still the
people sang and danced and held revelry; nothing could quench their
passion for enjoyment. The Republic was now the prey of the great
imperialist Napoleon, who adroitly acquired Venice by threats of war
followed by promises of democratic rule. A few shots were fired by the
French; then the Doge offered terms, which gave the city to the Emperor,
while the citizens held rejoicings at the advent of a new government.
A few months later Venice was given to Austria by the Treaty of
Campoformio. Between the French and the Austrians the city passed
through a troublous period of many years. Venice was now a fallen state.
But what a memorial it is! The city is like a huge volume of history,
and we linger over its enchanting pages. Let us now look upon the
monuments that reveal to us the soul and genius of Venice of the olden
times.
Several of the most important buildings in Venice border the fine square
of San Marco, a favourite evening gathering-place of the Venetians.
Dominating the piazza is the Cathedral of San Marco, with its
magnificent front, a bewildering array of portals, decorated arches,
carvings in relief, surmounted by graceful towers and steeples. The
style is Byzantine, and partly Roman, designed after St Sophia at
Constantinople. In shape the edifice is cruciform, with a dome to each
arm of the cross. High above the cathedral roof rises the noble
Campanile.