give the first place to San Frediano, and say that the façade, as it now
stands, might possibly precede the erection of the cathedral at Pisa.
The lower part of San Giusto would occupy the next place in
chronological order. That of Santa Maria foris portam, the third. The
front of San Michele would follow, and then that of the cathedral; but
these, together with the upper part of San Giusto and the lower part of
San Cristoforo, must be nearly of the same date. Lastly, the upper part
of San Cristoforo, and the Gothic alterations in the body of the
cathedral. The whole space of time occupied by this series may have
begun soon after the year 1000, and continued to 1250. I might
considerably enlarge the number of examples, but you will think I have
already written enough on this subject. Several of the village churches
about Lucca bear marks of having been erected at the same period. The
cathedral at Pistoja exhibits a similar taste, but the little columns
are formed of the gloomy macigno instead of marble, and the building is
in other respects inferior. There are some interesting monuments within,
bearing date 1337 and 1338, which seem rather to belong to the cinque
cento, than to so early a period. The design is Roman, and some parts
are very beautiful. There is also a monument in the style of those of
the Scaligers at Verona. Perhaps the oldest church that can be
considered as belonging to this style, is that of Sant Andrea at
Pistoja, but here we have only a single range of arches resting on half
columns, and over that an entablature, which might be Roman. The
Baptistery in the same city, on the other hand, is one of the latest;
the parts being Gothic, and really forming a handsome edifice. A similar
taste prevailed at Prato. The ornamental stone of the cathedral there,
is a dark green serpentine, frequently with whitish spots, which is
brought from quarries about three miles from the city.
A walk round the ramparts at Lucca gives you a very good idea of the
surrounding country. Near you is a rich cultivated valley of very even
surface; beyond this, about north-west by west, the mountains rise in
distant succession to a lofty point, called Pico d’Uccello, or Lapania,
where there is a patch or two of snow, but the rocks are for the most
part too steep to retain it. The entrance of the valley of the Serchio
into the basin of Lucca takes place nearly north of Lucca, but there is
hardly any distinguishable separation of the mountains. Pleasant, shady
hills towards the north and north-east hide the more distant elevations,
except that the summit of Monte Pellegrino just rises above them. To the
east the plain appears boundless. On the south, rises the chain of hills
above the baths of Pisa, and between these and the western range, the
Serchio finds a passage where the eye does not from Lucca perceive any
opening. The scene is very varied, and everywhere very beautiful.
All the relations of my young friend Pardini, are anxious to treat me
with the utmost kindness in return for the little attention I showed to
him at Rome; I must be treated at the coffee-houses and at the theatre,
and wherever else they think I can receive any amusement. His father
insisted upon taking me to the baths of Lucca, and on my departure from
that city, I found it impossible to pay any thing at the inn: I called
for the account, scolded, and did all but quarrel, but it was in vain;
and as I found I could not refuse their kindness without offence, I at
last gave up the point.
We had a soaking wet ride to the baths, but the rich bunches of
saxifrage which fringed the rocks, only looked the more beautiful. The
immediate situation of the baths has little to recommend it, it is among
steep slopes and narrow valleys, partially cultivated with vines and
olives, but the whole seems taken out of an immense forest of
chesnut-trees, which extends for many miles in all directions. It has
all the appearance of a native forest, yet I was assured that each tree
had been grafted; and indeed, on examination, there seemed sufficient
proof of this assertion, though some of them are five or six feet in
diameter. Two streams, the Lima and the Camaglione, meet at the foot of
a small, but steep hill, which is connected only by a very narrow ridge
with the general mass. Four sets of warm springs rise from this
peninsulated hill, the lowest perhaps at an elevation of a hundred feet
above the junction of the streams, the highest not less than two hundred
and fifty. The temperature of the hottest is 128 or 129 of Fahrenheit.
The soil is everywhere a micaceous grit, except at one point, where we
see a calcareous rock, accompanied with a breccia of rounded pebbles,
the cement of which is, I believe, also calcareous, dipping rapidly
under the hill.
The next morning began in the same way, but after a time it cleared up,
and I proceeded to visit the Prato Fiorito, a mountain a few miles
distant, of whose botanical treasures both learned and ignorant had
talked to me with raptures. It amused me as I walked along to hear my
guide ask the peasants if the field were in flower. It is in fact, a
high, sloping meadow of close turf, intermixed with mosses, and
embellished at this season with quantities of the _Narcissus poeticus_,
here called violets, and _Gentiana acaulis_. There is also a profusion
of cowslips, which are here rarities. _Lilium Martagon_, and _L.
croceum_, _Pæonia officinalis_, and many other showy plants, are said to
be very abundant at a later season. The elevation of the summit does not
probably exceed 4,000 feet, as snow lies on it very little even in the
winter. On the south-east it is precipitous, and some of the
neighbouring mountains are very craggy, but clouds obscured the higher
ridges, which occasionally appeared covered with forests, and the
summits streaked with snow. The view is quite Apennine, exhibiting steep
slopes and sharp ridges, without the solid masses which characterize the
Alps. The mountain on which we stand (Monte a Celle) divides into two
heads. One which seems to be entirely of limestone, carries on its back
the Prato Fiorito. The other is called Monte Coronata, probably from a
thick bed of chert, which forms a crest near its summit. The back and
summit of this are covered with what appears to be a red marl, sometimes
containing a dark red jasper. The limestone has a conchoidal fracture,
and smells when breathed upon. I observed one ribbed, bivalve shell, and
a portion of a smooth shell on the ascent of Monte Coronata; but these
were the only traces I could find of organic remains.
----------------------------
1825.
A new road has been made across the mountains to Modena, which is
perhaps the most interesting to a naturalist, of all the carriageable
passes of the Apennines. We there see the limestone in the valleys and
lower hills frequently following the shape of the ground, the strata
dipping sometimes one way and sometimes another: sometimes they are
horizontal, and sometimes vertical. The upper beds are thin, and
interstratified with a red, jaspery substance. The higher parts of the
mountains are formed of a solid, micaceous grit, not without some
disturbance, but in general dipping at a comparatively small angle
towards the north-east. In one part the road cuts through the limestone,
where a rock of this grit rises almost perpendicularly above it. On
returning from Terraglio, which was my sleeping-place on an excursion
along this road, I went a little out of my way up the valley of the
Serchio to Ghivizzano, where I was told that a bed of coal had been
discovered, but I found only a lignite, under a bed of coarse gravel.
The greatest thickness of the lignite is about two feet. A large portion
has evidently been wood; the rest seems to consist of leaves, but I
could not determine any species; perhaps by digging into the hill we
might find more perfect remains.
On this occasion I also visited Viareggio, the only port possessed by
the government of Lucca, or rather the only place on the shore, for it
cannot be called a port. A wide marshy tract, and a strip of sand
separate the mountains from the sea; the sand is in great measure
covered with the wood, and immediately south of Viareggio this consists
principally of the _Pinus Pinaster_. There is a considerable lake; and
on its borders, at a place called Massa Ciuccoli, at the foot of the
hills, there are remains of baths, which probably belonged to some Roman
villa. I went from Viareggio by water, and found enough to gratify me in
the antiquities, though they are hardly such as could excite any
interest in the description. In 1826 I crossed the Apennines from
Pistoja to Modena. The road is much less interesting than that from
Lucca to Modena, but there is a tolerable inn at La Bettona, just at the
summit of the pass; an accommodation which the other wants. The distance
between them is small, and the roads unite a few miles beyond the
summit. The highest point of the Apennines in this neighbourhood is
Monte Cimone, which is hardly ever free from snow, and must exceed 7,000
feet in elevation. It advances a little north from the general range,
and on the Modena side towers over all the rest. My guide in a walk from
La Bettona, an intelligent woodman, assured me that there was limestone
in almost all the bottoms. The wood-cutters fell the trees, (chiefly the
_Pinus Pinea_) and form oars and other articles; but the great staple is
oars. Afterwards come the charcoal-makers; and since the establishment
of some iron-founderies in the valleys, the natural reproduction falls
far short of the waste, and no means are taken to supply it, though it
seems to be agreed that the wasteful character of the torrents
descending from the Apennines is very much increased by the destruction
of the woods.
A little beyond the summit I overtook a boy who was going to school. We
past near the establishment, which seems a very large one. The boy said
there were so many schools that he could tell nothing of the number of
boys. This is the Italian practice. The pupils are divided into several
large classes, and each class forms a school, occupying its peculiar
room, and having its own master. I stopt at Birigazza, to see what is
called a volcano, i. e. flames issuing from the ground. These are much
stronger than those of Pietra Mala were when I saw them in 1817, but the
weather had been rainy before I arrived at Birigazza, and the flames are
always most considerable in wet weather. They sometimes go out, and do
not inflame again of themselves. The smell was that of a clear, coal
fire, and I could distinguish nothing of that of sulphur. There was a
small deposit of soot on some of the stones. There seem to be several of
these places on the northern side of the Apennines.
----------------------------
1819.
On the 24th of May I left Lucca. After crossing a low part of the ridge,
which forms the western boundary of the valley of the Serchio, the road
lies along a wide plain, extending from the mountains to the sea. It is
said to be marshy in many parts, but except in one or two places, this
is hid from the eye by the luxuriant vegetation. The immediate
neighbourhood of the road abounds in olives. On the right are
chesnut-covered mountains, whose craggy summits were lost in the clouds.
At Pietra Santa there is a Gothic cathedral with a rose window. The
columns of the nave are of a beautiful, reddish breccia. There is
another church with a Gothic front in that town. Massa stands at the
entrance of a fine valley opening among the Apennines, and watered by a
brilliant stream. Carrara is at some distance up another valley,
sheltered by bold and craggy mountains, which have a look of greater
solidity than is common among the Apennines. The road between the two
cities passes over a ridge, which seems principally to consist of a
dark, bituminous limestone. The marble quarries occupy three or four
descending ridges, uniting in a lofty mountain called Monte Sagro, which
exhibited a few spots of snow; but it did not appear to be one of the
highest in the district. On leaving Carrara we ascend by the side of a
little brook, which runs through it, and soon arrive at the beds of
dove-coloured marble, here called bardiglio: higher up the valley are
the beds of white marble. They are very much inclined, but not following
any common direction. Only a few of these beds produce marble of such a
grain and transparency as to be highly prized by the statuary; and from
these beds, if they get one block in ten which preserves a good colour
throughout, they are satisfied; higher up still, the marble becomes of a
dull, dead colour, but of this much larger blocks may be obtained. The
principal quarries of veined marble are in a parallel valley, which I
did not visit.
There is a Cathedral at Carrara, which seems to have been begun in
imitation of that at Pisa. It is in five divisions below, but each
division except the centre has two arches. In the upper part there are
slender shafts and pointed arches to the raking semigables of the side
aisles, but a richly ornamented square, with an elegant rose-window in
its centre, occupies great part of the middle division of the building.
The smaller structure, which no doubt was to have crowned the truncated
gable, has never been erected. There is a school of sculpture at
Carrara, in which at least the materials of study are to be found. Great
attention has been very properly paid to architectural ornament, but the
effect has not been happy, as the productions are dry and tasteless,
though considerable mechanical skill is displayed.
After having seen the lions of Carrara I engaged a carriage to Lerici.
The wide valley of the Magra divides the hills which surround the gulf
of Spezia from the mass of the Apennines. I walked to the old castle at
Lerici, picturesquely situated on an advancing point, which sheltering
the little cove behind it, forms the harbour. On Wednesday, in spite of
the bad weather, I visited the island of Palmari, close to Porto Venere
at the mouth of the gulf of Spezia, where are the quarries of black and
yellow marble; this gives hardly any smell on rubbing. The beds dip
about eight degrees to the north, or a little to the east of north. Some
cliffs in the island appear of a pale gray or buffish limestone, with
yellowish veins, probably the effect of exposure. From this island we
command fine views of the noble gulf of Spezia, which is everywhere
beautiful, although the shapes of the mountains which bound it on the
north, are perhaps rather lumpish. On the opposite side, the lower
slopes are covered with olives, above are vines and chesnuts, but many
of the summits are rocky and naked. The quarantine for the port of Genoa
is established in a cove in this gulf.
On the evening of the 27th I went on board a felucca to go to Genoa. We
crossed the gulf almost in a calm, and then a contrary wind detained us
at Porto Venere. I had predicted this result, but the master assured me
so positively from all his past experience, that there was no danger of
such an event, that I was persuaded to accompany him, not however
without contemplating the possibility of getting out and walking. I do
not often complain of fleas, but they swarmed so in this instance, as to
hasten my determination of going by land. Accordingly, after one night
in the boat, finding another passenger in the same disposition, we hired
a little open boat for La Spezia, and thence walked to Borghetto.
I found my companion fidgetty and fretful. He was a Frenchman, almost
ignorant of the Italian language, but seemed to have very little
inclination for talking. A mile or two before Borghetto he met an
Italian priest, with whom he entered into conversation in dog Latin; and
he liked his new companion so much better than the old, that on arriving
at the inn at Borghetto, he told the landlord that I should sleep there,
but that the priest and himself were going on immediately, on horseback.
It was really my intention to stay, but I had not said so, and therefore
considered this as a declaration that he wished to get rid of me.
However, he soon quarrelled with the landlord about his bill, and about
his horses and his luggage; and abusing the priest for throwing
difficulties in the way, said he should give up proceeding for that
night, and walk with me in the morning; but I had no more inclination
for his company, than he had before witnessed for mine, and told him
that I intended to proceed on horseback; and the priest very good
humouredly offering to accompany him on foot that evening to Matarano,
they made it up, and set off together, and I saw no more of them.
The next morning I procured a horse and rode two posts to Matarano, but
how many miles my informants disagreed. The rocks in general were
covered with a loamy soil, but one hill was remarkably black, and broke
so like coal, that I could not persuade myself that it was not so, till
I found it did not stain my fingers. At Matarano I obtained another
horse to carry me to Bracco. The road is continually up and down hill,
though always at a very considerable elevation. The country is
excessively rugged; it seemed nature grown poor and old.
I afterwards pursued my journey on foot to Chiavari. A long descent from
Bracco brought me to the sea-shore, where I met an Englishman, who asked
me some questions in French. I replied in the same language: he then
said “Stop,” and began to feel in his pocket for a paper of directions.
I said, that since I perceived he was an Englishman, I should answer him
in English. He started from me, “God bless me, I am an Englishman.” His
surprise seeming to be not so much at finding me one, as at discovering
for the first time that he was so himself. He said he had walked 1,500
miles in France, and never in his whole journey used any sort of
carriage except now and then a boat to cross a ferry or a bay. He was
very anxious that I should return with him to Ponte di Sestri, which I
had passed about a mile before, and take a glass of wine with him; but I
was neither disposed to drink nor to return.
The next morning was wet at first, and the clouds hung low all day, yet
I had a very pleasant walk to Areco. This day’s journey was mostly along
the old road, which is very hilly; the new one is to keep a better
level, and when completed will be a noble work. The present way takes
advantage of a tunnel cut for a considerable distance, which will make
part of the new road.
At Areco I found a carriage going to Genoa, and procured a place in it
for three lire. By the way we passed Rapalo, which is, I think, the most
beautiful part of the gulf, and carriages are frequently passing from
thence to Genoa, so that it is very accessible.
Genoa struck me at first view as presenting a long, and somewhat
elevated horizontal line, advancing from the mountains to the sea; a
fine composition, but completely different from what I had been taught
to expect. The loftier mountains here recede considerably from the
shore, but the interval is filled with high and steep hills, and the
horizontal line was a very deceiving appearance, for of all cities I
ever was in, it is the most uneven; and in most situations it takes the
appearance usually ascribed to it of an amphitheatre rising from the
sea. The palaces of Genoa are more celebrated than her churches, and in
fact I shall have little to say concerning the latter. The Cathedral,
dedicated to St. Lawrence, was built in the eleventh century,
consecrated in 1118 by the pope Pelagius II., and restored in 1300. The
front belongs to the latter date; the lower part is occupied by three
pointed arches, with the little columns and other appendages of Gothic
architecture. There is one marigold window in the centre, and several
smaller ones. The intention was probably to erect two towers, but of
these only one has been executed, and that at a later period, and it
does not preserve the character of the rest of the building. There is
not the least trace in this edifice of the taste which prevailed at Pisa
and Lucca. Internally, the first arch is Gothic, and corresponds in
style with the front; in the remaining part, small pointed arches rest
on single columns. The latter are probably original parts of the
building, and the arches above them, I suppose to have been originally
semicircular.
I should not mention the Church of St. Cyr, if it were not boasted of
for the richness of its marble. The nave has arches resting on coupled
columns, which are rather gouty. It is one among the many proofs, that a
profusion of rich and beautiful materials may be employed without
producing either richness or beauty. The Annunziata is another example
of the same sort; but such are not wanting in Genoa. The Church of Santa
Maria di Carignano is a fine building of modern architecture, in the
form of a Greek cross, with a lofty dome in the centre. The arms are
rather too long, and the entablature is poor and meagre. The vault is
divided into thirteen panels, which is too many; but the lines are well
preserved, and considered with respect to its interior, it will occupy a
distinguished place among the most beautiful churches of modern times.
In this church is the statue of St. Sebastian by Puget, which alone is
well worth a visit. Bernini never did any thing to equal it, and if
Puget had always worked in this manner, he would have been the first
statuary of modern times.
Besides these, the churches of St. Ambrose and St. Stephen must be
visited for their paintings, and St. Matthew for the tomb of a truly
great man, Andrea Doria. In the rest a few paintings are scattered
about, and there is abundance of fine marble and of gilding, but in
general disposed without taste or effect.
But if Genoa is not much distinguished for the beauty of her churches,
she may justly be proud of her Palaces; and if you walk along the three
continuous streets of Balbis, Nuova, and Nuovissima, looking into the
courts and staircases on each hand as you proceed, you may indeed think
yourself in a city of kings. The usual disposition exhibits a large hall
supported partly on columns leading to a court surrounded by arcades,
the arches of which likewise rest upon columns. On one side of the
streets, these courts are on a level with the external pavement; on the
other, the rapid rise of the ground is compensated by a flight of marble
steps. Beyond this court is the great staircase rising on each hand, and
further still is frequently a small garden, shaded with oranges; so far
the composition is admirable; it is invariably open to public view; and
the long perspective of halls, courts, columns, arches, and flights of
steps, produce a most magnificent effect, and this is still further
enhanced when the splendour of the marble is contrasted with the dark
shade of the orange-groves. But the chief merit of the buildings lies in
these parts. There are internally fine apartments, but by no means of a
magnificence corresponding with that of the entrance. The other streets
of Genoa are narrow and dark; but even here we find some noble edifices.
In the Palazzo Brignola there is a large collection of paintings; in the
Durazzo a very good one. I think these two may suffice in that respect
for any person who is not a professed connoisseur.
I missed somehow the saloon of the Serra palace, which is said to be the
finest in Genoa.
The Poor-house at Genoa exceeds all you can conceive of magnificent
poor-houses. It is a stately palace, extending above 560 feet each way,
and inclosing four equal courts, each about 170 feet square. The
internal buildings, dividing the courts, form a cross, in the middle of
which is the chapel, or at least the altar; the different classes of
inmates occupying the arms during the time of public service: it boasts
a Pietà of Michael Angelo, in which the attitude and half-closed eyes of
the Virgin seem to indicate that she is about to faint on the dead body
of her son, but the lips are firm. This poor-house will contain 2,200
persons, and includes a manufacture of lace, linen cloths, and other
objects. The great hospital is also a large and magnificent building.
I left Genoa on the 9th of June by the diligence, at three o’clock in
the morning, and passed the long ascent of the Bocchetta in a violent
storm. We slept at Alessandria. The next morning we were called at one
o’clock, and set off at two. The upper part of the Tanaro and Po, and
the numerous rivers which fall into them in the early part of their
course, seem to traverse one vast lake-like plain, which has two
outlets; one a narrow gorge among sandy hills, through which the Tanaro
finds its passage; the other wider, and less distinctly marked, below
Turin. I breakfasted at Asti at eight, but the rest of the party waited
till eleven, when they dined at Villa Nuova. From this place to
Moncaglieri, the near scenery is flat and uninteresting, with hardly
elevation enough to exhibit the tremendous barrier of the distant Alps,
more than half surrounding us, which from elevated points in other parts
of the road, we saw covered with eternal snow. It seemed an extravagance
to think of passing them, and I could not but reflect on the vanity of
attempting to keep out an enemy by any artificial ramparts, when a
barrier like this had never protected Italy. I took up my quarters at
Turin, at the Pension Suisse, where I was in every respect very
comfortable.
I could almost persuade myself at Turin that Italy was already left. The
language seemed lost at Genoa, and those who there spoke to me in
Tuscan, or who speak it here, do it with an evident effort, and in some
degree as a foreign language; I think indeed they seem less familiar
with it, than with the French. The weather is cloudy, wet, and rather
cold, and the sky seems even still less Italian than the language.