On the Way to Rome.
_Fair Italy!
Thou art the garden of the world, the home
Of all art yields, and nature can decree:
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes' fertility:
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin grand
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced._
--LORD BYRON.
[Illustration: ORVIETO CATHEDRAL.]
"We will take a roundabout journey to Rome," said Mr. Sumner, "and so
get all the variety of scene and emotion possible. Something that crowds
every moment with interest will be best for all just now."
And so they planned to go first of all to Pisa: from thence to Siena,
Orvieto, Perugia, Assisi, and so on to Rome.
Miss Sherman had asked to accompany them, since Florence would be so
dull when they were gone. Indeed, she had stayed on instead of seeking
the warmer, more southern cities simply because they were here.
Therefore one morning during the last week of February all bade good-by
to their pleasant home in Florence.
"It seems like an age since we first came here, doesn't it, Bab, dear?"
said Bettina, as they entered together the spacious waiting-room of the
central railroad station.
"Yes, Betty; are we the same girls?" answered Barbara, and her smile had
just a touch of dreariness.
Mr. Sumner and Malcom were seeing to the weighing of the luggage; Mrs.
Douglas, Margery, and Miss Sherman were together; and for a moment the
two girls were alone.
Somehow Bettina felt a peculiarly tender care of her sister just now,
and was never absent from her side if she could help it. Without
understanding why or what it was, she yet felt that something had
happened which put a slight barrier between them; that something in
which she had no share had touched Barbara. She had been wistfully
watching her ever since she had returned from the visit to Howard, and
was striving to keep all opportunity for painful thought from her.
At present, Barbara shrank from telling even Bettina, from whom she had
never before hidden a thought, of that last meeting with Howard. No girl
could ever mistake such a look as that which had lighted his eyes as she
stooped to kiss his brow in answer to Mrs. Douglas's request. There
would be no need for Mrs. Douglas ever to tell her the story. The loving
devotion that shone forth even in his uttermost weakness had thrilled
her very soul, and she could not forget it for a moment when alone.
A certain sense of loss which she could not define followed her.
Somehow, it did mean more to her than it did to any one else, that
Howard was gone from their lives, but she knew that not even Betty would
understand. Indeed, she could not herself understand, for she was sure
that she had not loved Howard.
Though Barbara did not know it, the truth was that for a single instant
she had felt what it is to be loved as Howard loved her; and the loss
she felt was the loss of love,--not Howard's love--but love for itself
alone. She was not just the same girl she was when she had entered
Florence a few months ago, nor ever again would be; and between her and
Bettina,--the sisters who before this had been "as one soul in two
bodies,"--ran a mysterious Rubicon, the outer shore of which Bettina's
feet had not yet touched.
The hasty return of Mr. Sumner and Malcom with two lusty _facchini_, who
seized the hand-luggage, the hurry to be among the first at the opening
of the big doors upon the platform beside which their train was drawn
up, and the little bustle of excitement consequent on the desire to
secure an entire compartment for their party filled the next few
minutes, and soon they were off.
The journey led through a charming country lying at the base of the
Apennines. Picturesque castles and city-crowned hills against the
background of blue mountains, many of whose summits were covered with
gleaming snow, kept them looking and exclaiming with delight, until
finally they reached Lucca, and, sweeping in a half circle around Monte
San Giuliano, which, as Dante wrote, hides the two cities, Lucca and
Pisa, from each other, they arrived at Pisa.
Although they expected to find an old, worn-out city, yet only Mr.
Sumner and Mrs. Douglas were quite prepared for the dilapidated
carriages that were waiting to take them from the station to their
hotels; for the almost deserted streets, and the general pronounced air
of decadence. Even the Arno seemed to have lost all freshness, and left
all beauty behind as it flowed from Florence, and was here only a
swiftly flowing mass of muddy waters.
After having taken possession of their rooms in one of the hotels which
look out upon the river, and having lunched in the chilly dining room,
which they found after wandering through rooms and halls filled with
marble statues and bric-a-brac set forth to tempt the eyes of
travellers, and so suggestive of the quarries in which the neighboring
mountains are rich, they started forth for that famous group of sacred
buildings which gives Pisa its present fame.
They were careful to enter the Cathedral by the richly wrought door in
the south transept (the only old one left) and, passing the font of holy
water, above which stands a _Madonna and Child_ designed by Michael
Angelo, sat down beneath Andrea del Sarto's _St. Agnes_, and listened to
Mr. Sumner's description of the famous edifice.
He told them that the erection of this building marked the dawn of
mediæval Italian art. It is in the old basilica style, modified by the
dome over the middle of the top. Its columns are Greek and Roman, and
were captured by Pisa in war. Its twelve altars are attributed to
Michael Angelo (were probably designed by him), and the mosaics in the
dome are by Cimabue. They wandered about looking at the old pictures,
seeking especially those by Andrea del Sarto, who was the only artist
familiar to them, whose paintings are there. They touched and set
swinging the bronze lamp which hangs in the nave, and is said to have
suggested to Galileo (who was born in Pisa), his first idea of the
pendulum.
Then, going out, they climbed the famous Leaning Tower, and visited the
Baptistery, where is Niccolo Pisano's wonderful sculptured marble
pulpit.
Afterward they went into the Campo Santo, which fascinated them by its
quaintness, so unlike anything they had ever seen before. They thought
of the dead reposing in the holy earth brought from Mount Calvary;
looked at the frescoes painted so many hundreds of years ago by Benozzo
Gozzoli, pupil of Fra Angelico; at the queer interesting _Triumph of
Death_ and _Last Judgment_, so long attributed to Orcagna and now the
subject of much dispute among critics; and then, wearied with seeing so
much, they went into the middle of the enclosure and sat on the
flagstones in the warm sun amid the lizards and early buttercups.
The next afternoon they went to Siena, and arrived in time to see, from
their hotel windows, the sunset glory as it irradiated all that vast
tract of country that stretches so grandly on toward Rome. Here they
were to spend several days.
The young travellers were just beginning to experience the charm which
belongs peculiarly to journeying in Italy--that of finding, one after
another, these delightful old cities, each in its own characteristic
setting of country, of history, of legend and romance.
They were full of the thrill of expected emotion,--that most delicious
of all sensations.
And they received no disappointment from this old "red city." They saw
its beautiful, incomparably beautiful, Cathedral, full of richness of
sculpture and color in morning, noon, and evening light; and were never
tired of admiring every part of it, from its graffito and mosaic
pavement to its vaulted top filled with arches and columns, that
reminded them of walking through a forest aisle and looking up through
the interlaced branches of trees.
They visited the Cathedral Library, whose walls are covered with those
historical paintings by Pinturrichio, the little deaf Umbrian painter,
in whose design Raphael is said to have given aid.
But Mr. Sumner wished that the time they could give to the study of
paintings be spent particularly among the works of the old Sienese
masters. So they went again and again to the Accademia delle Belle Arti
and studied those quaint, half-Byzantine works, full of pathetic grace,
by Guido da Siena, by Duccio, Simone Martini, Lippo Memmi, and the
Lorenzetti brothers.
Here, too, they found paintings by Il Sodoma, a High Renaissance artist,
which pleased them more than all else. _The Descent into Hades_, where
is the exquisitely lovely figure of Eve, whose mournful gaze is fixed
on her lost son, toward whom the Saviour stoops with pity, drew them
again and again to the hall where the worn fresco hangs; and after they
had found, secluded in its little cabinet, that fragment which
represents _Christ Bound to a Column_, of which Paul Bourget has written
so tenderly, they voted this painter one of the most interesting they
had yet found.
To Bettina, the "saint-lover," as Malcom had dubbed her, the city gained
an added interest from having been the home of St. Catherine of Siena,
and the others shared in some degree her enthusiasm. They made a
pilgrimage to the house of St. Catherine, and all the relics contained
therein were genuinely important to them, for, as Betty averred again
and again:--
"You know she did live right here in Siena, so it must be true that this
is her house and that these things were really hers."
They admired Palazzo Publico within and without; chiefly from without,
for they could never walk from the Cathedral to their hotel without
pausing for a time to look down into the picturesque Piazza del Campo
where it stands, and admire its lofty walls, so mediæval in character,
with battlemented cornice and ogive windows.
They walked down the narrow streets and then climbed them. They drove
all over the city within its brown walls; and outside on the road that
skirts them and affords such lovely views of the valley and Tuscan
hills. They were sincerely sorry when at last the day came on which they
must leave it and continue on their way.
"Why are we going to Orvieto, uncle?" asked Malcom, as they were waiting
at Chiusi for their connection with the train from Florence to Orvieto.
"For several reasons, Malcom. In the first place, it is one of the best
preserved of the ancient cities of Italy. So long ago as the eighth
century it was called _urbs vetus_ (old city) and its modern name is
derived from that. Enclosed by its massive walls, it still stands on the
summit of its rocky hill, which was called _urbibentum_ by the old
historian, Procopius. It is comparatively seldom visited by the ordinary
tourist, and is thoroughly unique and interesting. In the second place,
in its Cathedral are most valuable examples of Fra Angelico's, Benozzo
Gozzoli's, and Signorelli's paintings; and, in the third place, I love
the little old city, and never can go to or from Rome without spending
at least a few hours there if it is possible for me to do so. Are these
weighty enough reasons?" and Mr. Sumner drew his arm affectionately into
that of the tall young man he loved so well. "But here comes our train."
"This cable-tram does not look very ancient," said Malcom, when a half
hour later they stood on the platform of the little railway station at
Orvieto and looked up at the hillside.
"No; its only merit is that it takes us up quickly," replied his mother,
as they reached the waiting car. "All try if you can to get seats with
back to the hill, so that you will command the view of this beautiful
valley as we rise."
The city did indeed look foreign as they entered its wall, left the
cable-car, and, in a hotel omnibus, rattled through the streets, so
narrow that it is barely possible for two carriages to pass each other.
"Is everybody old here, do you suppose?" slyly whispered Bettina to
Barbara, as they were taken in charge by a very old woman, who led the
way to the rooms already engaged for the party. "I should be afraid to
come here all alone; everything is so strange.
"Oh! but how pleasant," she added, brightly, as they were shown into a
sweet, clean room, whose windows opened upon a small garden filled with
rose-bushes, and whose two little beds were snowy white. "How delightful
to be here a little later, when these roses will be in bloom!"
The brown withered face of the old chambermaid beamed upon the two young
girls, and showed her satisfaction at their evident delight, and when
she found that they could understand and speak a little of her own
language, her heart was indeed won, and she bustled about seeking
whatever she could do to add to their comfort, just for the pleasure of
being near them.
"It must be a delightful place to visit," said Barbara, when finally
they were alone, "but I should not like to have to live here for any
length of time, I know; so gray, so old, so desolate it all seemed on
our way through the streets," and a slight shiver ran through her at the
remembrance.
Soon they went to the Cathedral; admired its façade, decorated with
mosaics in softly brilliant colors until it looked like a great opal,
shining against the deep blue sky; entered it and saw Fra Angelico's
grand _Christ_, and calm, holy saints and angels; and, close to them
(the most striking contrast presented in art), Luca Signorelli's wild,
struggling, muscular figures.
They went into the photograph store on the corner for photographs, and
to the little antique shop opposite, where they bought quaint Etruscan
ornaments to take away as souvenirs,--and then gave themselves to
exploring the city; after which they all confessed to having fallen
somewhat under the spell of its charm.
The next afternoon found them on their way, around Lake Trasimeno, to
Perugia.
Little had been said about this city, for their conversation had been
engaged with those they had left behind. Malcom, only, had been looking
up its history in his guide-book, and was interested to see the place
that had been bold enough to set itself up even against Rome, and so had
earned the title "audacious" inscribed on its citadel by one of the
Popes.
"Magnificent in situation!" he exclaimed, and his eager eyes allowed
nothing to escape them, as their omnibus slowly climbed the high hill,
disclosing wide and ever widening views of the valley of the Tiber.
"I think," said Mr. Sumner, who was enjoying the delighted surprise of
his party, "that Perugia is the most princely city in regard to position
in all Italy. It is perched up here on the summit as an eagle on his
aeried crag, and seems to challenge with proud defiance these lower
cities, that, though each on its own hill-top, look as if slumbering in
the valley below."
When a little later they were ushered into the brilliantly lighted
dining-room, which was filled almost to overflowing with a gayly dressed
and chattering crowd of guests, most of whom spoke the English language,
all the way thither seemed as a dream. Only the voluminous head-dresses
of the English matrons, and the composite speech of the waiters, told
them surely that they were in a foreign land.
The next day, after a drive through the city, whose different quarters
present some of the most interesting contrasts to be found in all Italy,
Mr. Sumner took them to the Pinacoteca, or picture-gallery, and before
looking at the pictures, told them in a few words about the early
Umbrian school of painting.
"It grew out of the early Florentine, and is marked by many of the same
characteristics. It was, however, much modified by the Sienese painting.
It has less strength, as it has also, of course, less originality, than
the Florentine. Its color, on the other hand, is better, stronger, and
more harmonious. Its works possess a peculiar simplicity and
devoutness--much tranquillity and gentleness of sentiment. This gallery
is filled with examples of its masters' painting. It just breathes forth
their spirit, and the best way to absorb it would be to come, each one
of us alone, and give ourselves up to its spell. This is no place for
criticism; only for feeling. Study particularly whatever you find of
Francesca's, Perugino's and Bonfiglio's work.
"You all know," he continued, "that Perugino, who lived here and
received his art name because he did so, had an academy of painting, and
that Raphael was for some years one of his pupils. Perugino's influence
on his pupils is strikingly apparent in their work. Raphael's early
painting is exactly after his style. In Perugino's treatment of figures
you will find a mannerism, especially in the way his heads are placed on
the shoulders, and in his faces, which are full of sentiment, the
wistful eyes often being cast upward, but sometimes veiled with heavily
drooping lids.
"Look! here is one of his pictures. The oval faces with the peculiarly
small mouth are characteristic. You will most readily recognize the work
of this master after you have become a bit familiar with it."
He also took them to the Cambio, once a Chamber of Commerce, to see
Perugino's frescoes, which he told them are more important in the world
of art than are his easel pictures. Here they seated themselves against
the wall wainscoted with rare wooden sculptures, on the same bench on
which all lovers of the old painter's art who have visited Perugia
through four centuries have sat.
[Illustration: PERUGINO. UFFIZI GALLERY FLORENCE.
HEAD OF MADONNA. FROM MADONNA AND SAINTS.]
And here they studied long the figures of those old Roman heroes chosen
by Perugino to symbolize the virtues; figures which possess a unique
and irresistible charm because of their athletic proportions and
vigorous action, while their faces are sweet, womanish, and tender, full
of the pensive, mystic devotion which is so characteristic of this old
master and his pupils.