Pisa--Hotel Victoria--Pisan weather--The poet Shelley--Historic Pisa
--Lung 'Arno--San Stefano di Canalia--Cathedral--Baptistery--Leaning
Tower--Campo Santo--The divine angels--The great chain of Pisa--Leghorn
--Smollett's grave--Poste-restante--A sweet thing in Beggars--Ugolino's
Tower--Departure for Rome.
We arrived at Pisa towards evening, and got into comfortable quarters at
the Hotel Victoria, a quiet house, reminding us of the Swiss hotels in
its style of entertainment. We soon had a nice little dinner set before
us, and were hungry enough to do justice to it.
The next morning we found to our great disgust that it rained heavily.
Our hotel was close to the river Arno, the river of Dante and Petrarch.
It looked sandy and muddy as it flowed rapidly by. There were several
gondola-like barges being towed by ropes on the other side, and
Shelley's lines occurred to my memory, more in association of the poet
with the place, than from the poetical look of the river itself--
"Within the surface of the fleeting river
The wrinkled image of the city lay
Immovably unquiet, and for ever
It trembles, but never fades away."
It is impossible to visit Pisa without recalling touching memories of
the unfortunate and gifted poet who passed the last few years of his
stormy life here, and only left it in the summer of 1823 for the Casa
Magni, on the wild sea coast between Lerici and San Terenzio. It was
from here that the _Don Juan_ set out on its fatal trip to Leghorn one
July morning--never to return.
Pisa is another very ancient city. It was founded about six centuries
B.C., and was one of the twelve Etruscan cities. Like Genoa, it
underwent many changes and vicissitudes, one of the greatest of which
was the unexpected receding of the sea for some three or four miles,
changing it from a busy, prosperous port to a comparatively unimportant
inland town. It is still, however, much respected on account of its
ancient greatness and learning, and is generally looked upon as the
cradle of Italian art. In these latter days it is again becoming wealthy
and enterprising. It is considered a remarkably good place for
consumptive invalids. A fellow-traveller informed me that a friend of
his had lived here for many years with _both lungs gone_! The climate is
exceedingly mild, almost humid from the quantity of rain that falls:
there is said to be, on an average, seventy-three days of rain, and one
of snow, between October and April. We remained there only two days, and
it rained almost incessantly during the whole time; the place looking
very miserable under the circumstances. However, the inhabitants
appeared quite used to it, and walked about unconcernedly enough, with
their _green_ umbrellas, evidencing at least some sunny days in the
past.
The busiest part of the town is the Lung 'Arno (Street along the Arno),
a broad, handsome quay extending down both banks of the river. The
houses here are very imposing; one, in particular, is fronted with
marble so exquisitely smooth and pure it might serve as a looking-glass.
Fortunately for visitors, most of the objects of interest are
concentrated in one spot--a large square some ten minutes' walk from our
hotel. The streets we passed through on our way thither were very
quaint, the overhanging shops and cloistered pavements reminding us much
of Chester. On the way we visited San Stefano di Cavalier, the church of
the Knights of the Order of St. Stephen, and were much interested in the
number of flags--Turkish trophies captured from the Moslem by the
valiant Knights Crusaders. There were also some beautiful ceiling
paintings of the battle of Lepanto, and other subjects.
On reaching the Piazza del Duomo, we found the four chief objects of
interest we had come to seek. Forsyth pithily observes, "Pisa, while the
capital of a republic, was celebrated for its profusion of marble, its
patrician tower, and its grave magnificence. It can still boast some
marble churches, a marble palace, and a marble bridge. Its towers,
though no longer a mark of nobility, may be traced in the walls of
modernized houses. Its gravity pervades every street, but its
magnificence is now confined to one sacred corner. There stands the
Cathedral, the Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, and the Campo Santo, all
built of the same white marble, all varieties of the same architecture,
all venerable with years, and fortunate both in their society and their
solitude."
The Cathedral is indeed very fine; the columns, arches, and carvings are
curiously beautiful. It was built by the Pisans after their great naval
victory in 1063, and is, I think, the finest specimen now existing of
the style called by the Italians the Gotico-Moresco. Baedeker says,
"This remarkably perfect edifice is constructed entirely of white
marble, with black and coloured ornamentation. The most magnificent part
is the façade, which in the lower storey is adorned with columns and
arches attached to the wall; in the upper parts with four open
galleries, gradually diminishing in length: the choir is also imposing.
The ancient bronze gates were replaced in 1602 by the present doors,
with representations of scriptural subjects, executed by Mocchi, Tacca,
Mora, and others from designs by Giovanni da Bologna." The interior is
upborne by sixty-eight ancient Greek and Roman columns, captured by the
Pisans in war. The nave, transept, and dome are most beautifully
decorated with paintings, frescoes, and sculpture by Italy's greatest
master, of whom Ariosto truly says--
"_Michael, piu che mortal, angel divino._"
(Michael, less man than angel, and divine.)
Altogether it is one of the most beautiful Cathedrals I have ever seen,
more particularly in its external architecture.
Opposite, and but a few yards distant, is the Baptistery, but,
unfortunately, we were too late to obtain admittance. It is a beautiful,
circular structure some 160 feet in diameter, surrounded by columns
below, and a gallery of smaller detached columns above, covered with a
conical dome 190 feet high. The building was commenced in 1153, but was
not finally completed until 1278. It is famous for its wonderful echo.
The Campanile, or, as it is usually styled, the "Leaning Tower," is on
the other side of the Cathedral. It is 188 feet high, 53 feet round the
base, and about 14 feet out of the perpendicular. It is now, I believe,
generally understood that this obliquity was occasioned by the imperfect
state of the foundations and the sinking of the soil, which is light and
sandy, and which caused it to settle down on one side while the building
was still uncompleted; and this defect was afterwards provided for by
its architect. This is evident from the staircase, of some 294 steps,
being also at an angle. There are some very heavy bells on the topmost
towers, to counterbalance the deviation. It is supposed to have been
constructed about 1174, by William of Innsprück, and afterwards finished
by Italians, but it was not finally completed until 1350. It rises in
storeys, which, like the Baptistery, are surrounded by half columns and
six colonnades.
It is said that Galileo, who was born at Pisa, took advantage of the
peculiarity of the leaning tower to make his experiments regarding the
laws of gravitation; and there is in the Cathedral a great silver
chandelier suspended after his design--by a simple rod--from the great
height of the roof. This was so mathematically correct that the
celebrated astronomer took his idea of the pendulum from it. There is a
very fine view from the top of the tower, well repaying the trouble of
ascending. We were very pleased with the old "leaning tower of Pisa," so
familiar in our childhood as "one of the eight wonders of the world,"
and were not in the least degree disappointed, but rather wondered at
its height and circumference. It seems perilous to have erected other
buildings in its proximity, yet there are several handsome houses in its
immediate vicinity, affording, perhaps, additional grounds for the
theory of its accidental settlement.
The Campo Santo, or burial-ground, was the next place we visited,
accompanied by the custodian. It is not so beautiful in statuary as that
of Genoa, but from its great antiquity is even more interesting. It is a
long parallelogram 430 feet in length, with a covered cloister running
all round; the central part supported by beautiful pilasters adorned
with painting and frescoes, chiefly by Giotto, Orgagna, and Memmi, some
of them almost obliterated. There is a very ancient and interesting
collection of Roman, Etruscan, and Mediæval sculpture and sarcophagi,
important links in the history of early Italian sculpture. The pavement
is formed by the tombstones of those who have been interred here.
Through the round and beautifully traced arched windows you look out on
the original burial-ground in the centre, which is open to the sky, and,
tradition says, is filled in with some fifty-three ship-loads of earth
brought from Mount Calvary in the twelfth century (after the loss of the
Holy Land), by the Archbishop of that time, so that the dead might
repose in holy ground. I have heard that this Campo Santo is very
impressive when viewed by moonlight, which can be done by arranging with
the custodian at suitable times.
One other memento of past naval glory that we saw, was the great chain
across the more ancient part of Pisa. This was carried away by the
Genoese as a trophy, after their conquest of the city, but was
afterwards generously returned.
One of the pleasures of travelling not to be overlooked is that of
retrospection: picture after picture and memory after memory rises to
the mind, and one could go on for ever rebuilding in fancy all that has
pleased and interested. With all my heart I can echo Dickens' words--"I
find it difficult to separate my own delight in recalling, from your
weariness in having them recalled."
* * * * *
We took train to Leghorn, to procure our letters from the post-restante
there. The weather was so unpleasantly wet that, under the
circumstances, we did not find the place very interesting. Leigh Hunt
sums up _his_ impressions in a few exceedingly apt, albeit somewhat
unkind, words: "Leghorn is a polite Wapping, with a square and a
theatre." The grave of Smollett, who lived here for some time, is one of
the objects of interest to visitors from the British Isles. There is
always a degree of melancholy pleasure in coming across the last
resting-place of a distinguished countryman in a foreign land.
While at the post-restante, we experienced a singular example of the
persistency and malevolence of the typical Italian beggar. This time it
was a woman and her child, both extremely dirty, the latter evidently
alive with vermin. The woman, on my wife's refusing to give her
anything, deliberately told her poor neglected child to rub up against
her--in order, no doubt, to communicate some of her infirmity. To
relieve only a portion of the beggars of all kinds who pursue you
wherever you go in Italy, although this pest has been greatly reduced of
late years, would leave you with very little time or money.
On returning, we had a fine view of Pisa. In the distance it appears
like a city of white marble, with its tower leaning at one end, and the
blue mountains far away in the background, looking, however, much nearer
than is actually the case. Distance is almost annihilated in this clear,
dry, Italian atmosphere, which also to a great extent prevents decay,
the most ancient buildings looking often singularly fresh. "Antiquity
refuses to look ancient in Italy; it insists on retaining its youthful
aspect."
The _Torre del Fame_, or "Tower of Famine," where Ugolino and his sons
were starved to death, stood "a littel out" of Pisa, as old Chaucer has
it, but the very site of this monument of cruel tyranny and vengeance is
now lost, or at any rate apocryphal.
We were really glad to reach the Hotel Victoria once more, our journey
having been performed in the presently falling rain. There is much of
interest in this old city, but our time was limited, and we were
compelled to press on towards the south, and therefore left on the
evening of the second day for Rome, the weather clearing up just about
the time of our departure.
The Pisans have a significant motto:
"Pisa pensa a chi posa."
(Pisa sits ill
On those who sit still.)
We did not, however, stay long enough in the town to experience the
truth of the aphorism.