One of the earliest pictures of scenes in foreign lands that I remember
to have looked upon, was the Leaning Tower at Pisa; this and the
renowned Porcelain Tower at Pekin always came in for a good share of
wonder and speculation; the latter, when a boy, I firmly believed to be
built of precisely similar material as that of the tea set of a certain
aunt in the country, which she only paraded on state occasions, and
which being thin, delicate, and translucent, no piece was intrusted to
my juvenile fingers, which were only permitted to embrace a china mug
that appeared amazingly cheap in comparison.
That old picture, in the geography of the Leaning Tower, which awakened
a desire to see it never to be extinguished, is like dozens of other
similar wood-cuts, which make an indelible impression upon the mind of
youth, and you feel, when gazing upon the reality for the first time,
like greeting an old acquaintance; or rather the impression is like the
first personal introduction to a correspondent whom you have known many
years only by letter.
Though the general form and appearance of the Leaning Tower of Pisa were
familiar in my mind, I was not prepared for the surprisingly graceful
beauty of the structure, which is of white marble; and though it was
built nearly seven hundred years ago, it is remarkably clear and
fresh-looking. The very decided lean is at once observable on
approaching it; indeed, you experience something of an uncomfortable
sensation on being at the side where it appears to be ready to fall. Its
beauty consists in its being a perfect cylinder of fifty-three feet in
diameter, and one hundred and seventy-nine feet high; this great
cylinder being formed of eight regular tiers of columns, supporting
graceful arches, one above the other, and forming as many open marble
galleries running round the tower, the whole surmounted with a graceful
open-arched tower or belfry, giving it the appearance of a tall marble
column sculptured into circles of open arches and pillars.
We started for the summit, an easy ascent of two hundred and ninety-five
steps, occasionally going out upon the outside galleries, which project
some seven or eight feet on each story, till we reach the belfry, where
seven bells are hung, the largest weighing nearly twelve thousand
pounds; this tower, as is well-known, being the companile, or
bell-tower, of the cathedral close at hand. A few moments among the
bells, and we climb above them to the summit of the tower, where the
iron rail that protects the edge is grasped nervously as we approach and
look over the leaning side, where, without its aid, the feeling is, that
one would positively slip off from the slant; indeed, a glance downward
and at the tower itself, from this point, produces a terrific
sensation,--that it is slowly moving from the perpendicular on its
course to the earth below. It is, therefore, quite natural that most
tourists should take their views of the surrounding country from the top
of the Leaning Tower, as we did, from its upper side.
The view from the summit is very fine, taking in the city of Pisa
directly beneath, the surrounding country, distant mountains, and
hill-sides, with beautiful villas and vineyards. Far off in the
distance, in one direction, we saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean,
twelve miles and more away, heaving in the sunshine, with the white
sails of ships gliding upon its bosom, and the city of Leghorn at its
shore, with the masts of the vessels in port, and its light-house, all
distinctly visible. After a thorough enjoyment of the scene, we
descended to view the cathedral, Campo Santo, and Baptistery.
Here, in one grand square, within a stone's throw of each other, are the
four wonders of Pisa; the great Duomo, or cathedral, the Baptistery, the
Campo Santo, and the Leaning Tower--standing in a magnificent group by
themselves in the open space, rendering all else near them shrunken,
petty, and insignificant by their beauty and superb finish. These
glorious structures seem like the newly-created wonders of some magical
workman, who has placed them here together in the quiet old city for the
tourists of all nations to come and gaze upon, admire, wonder, and
depart.
The cathedral is an elegant specimen of beautiful architecture in
marble. Like all buildings of the kind, it is built in the form of a
Latin cross, and is three hundred and eleven feet long in the nave and
two hundred and thirty-eight in the transepts. The height of the
building is one hundred and twelve feet, and above its first story rises
a series of pillars supporting arches, the last two of a series of four,
when the façade is viewed from the square, making the building to look
like a square structure lifting a Grecian temple into the air upon its
lofty walls, or like an end view of that ideal picture that used to be
delineated as Solomon's Temple in the old family Bibles.
The great dome rises from the centre, surrounded by a ring of
eighty-eight pillars supporting an elegant ring of pointed work above
them, and surmounted by a cupola. Inside the scene is elegant; the great
centre nave, over forty feet wide, with twenty-four Corinthian columns
of red granite, twelve on a side, and each one a single block of stone,
twenty-five feet high, on a great pedestal over six feet high, and above
these another series of columns, smaller and more numerous, forming the
upper cloister corridor, or "Nuns Walk," as they call it in the old
English cathedrals, all lifting the grand roof ninety feet above the
pavement.
In the centre, on four great arches, rises the grand dome, richly
decorated; on either side are the aisles, their roof supported by fifty
Corinthian columns, while above, the roof gleams with mosaics set in
golden ground-work. On every side are interesting works of art which
will attract the attention; elegant paintings, among them those of
Andrea del Sarto; the high altar, a rich structure in costly-wrought
marble, the flowers, running vines, and chiselled cherubs beautiful to
look upon; the rich carved wood-work of the stalls, in the choir; the
stained-glass windows; the rich frescoes of the cupola; elegant
monuments, statues, and beautiful chapels, with their rich altars and
paintings, all contribute to render the interior elegant and attractive.
At one end of the nave, as we were passing out, we were shown the great
bronze chandelier, suspended from the roof by a cable nearly eighty feet
long, the regular swaying of which is said to have suggested the theory
of the pendulum to Galileo.
"What!" said I to the guide, "is this the very lamp?"
"The very same, monsieur."
"But it appears too huge, too heavy to swing."
"Ah, monsieur, it moves quite easily."
But I was an unbelieving Thomas; so, lingering behind the group, when
the guide's back was turned, I reached up, and with my umbrella gave the
lower part of the great bronze a strong push. Down came a shower of dust
from the creases of the great cable; the huge lamp began a grand,
majestic swing, and I was ready to exclaim, in the words of the great
mathematician himself, "Yet it moves;" and it did "move quite easily,"
continued its oscillations, back and forth, to such an extent that I
thought it safe to move myself at once from beneath the huge pendule,
which I did forthwith, quite satisfied that it swung for Galileo, and
might come down for myself.
This Duomo was completed in the year 1118, and the baptistery, which we
next visited, was founded in 1253, as an inscription upon it informed
us. It seems that a cathedral in those early days, notwithstanding its
vast size, generally had a superb tower erected for its bells,--a
structure by itself,--and another of grand proportions for the baptism
and christening of children. The baptistery here at Pisa is a perfectly
round building, of marble, looking like a great cathedral dome set upon
the ground; but it is a dome one hundred and seventy-nine feet high and
one hundred feet diameter inside the walls, which are nearly nine feet
thick.
The exterior above the first story is surrounded by rings of elegant
pillars and pointed pediments. The whole of the interior seems sheathed
with polished marble, so exquisitely matched and joined as to appear
almost seamless. You stand, as it were, in a huge dome, hollowed out of
marble. A grand circular font, fourteen feet in diameter, stands in the
centre. We saw here the magnificently carved pulpit, executed by Nicolo
Pisano, in 1260. It is hexagon in form, supported by seven pillars,
which, in turn, are supported by sculptured figures of lions, griffins,
&c. But it is the sculptures in bass-relief upon its sides that are most
wonderful, from their elaborate detail, which must have cost an age of
patience and labor in their execution. They represent the Nativity,
Adoration of the Magi, Crucifixion, Last Judgment, &c. The echoes in
this circular baptistery are something quite remarkable. The guide, a
fellow with a musical tenor voice, sang a note or two, and it came back
to us "a whole gamut filled with heavenly notes." Another sang a bar,
primo basso, and the polished walls returned it, like the mellowed peals
of a full-voiced organ. This magical music was as charming as novel, and
an extemporaneous concert was enjoyed here before leaving.
We next go over to the Campo Santo, or Holy Field, which renowned
cemetery is enclosed by cloisters opening into the holy ground, the
fronts of these cloisters facing the open space of the interior being
arched and roofed over, forming a covered promenade in the form of a
parallelogram, the whole enclosure being four hundred and fifteen feet
long and one hundred and thirty-seven wide. The centre, within the
cloister enclosure, was open overhead. The earth here, it will be
remembered, every handful of it for I do not know how many feet deep,
came from Mount Calvary, being brought by a prelate whom that fierce and
powerful Saracen, Saladin, expelled from his dominions about the year
1200, and who, compelled to eat dirt, revenged himself by carrying off
fifty or sixty ship-loads of it. It was deposited here, made holy
ground, and duly consecrated; and to make the burial lots go off more
lively, probably, the story was given out--which is still told--that the
earth had the property of reducing dead bodies to dust in twenty-four
hours. Of course, the rush to get in--or rather, of friends to get their
deceased relatives in--was great. Only great people could come down with
their dust, and very seldom is it that any interments are made here now.
One would naturally suppose that a burial-ground of these dimensions
would become a little crowded in six hundred and seventy years, unless
population was sparse, and some restrictions were made.
The covered arcade, or arched cloisters, which extend around the sides
forty-six feet high, and thirty-four feet wide contain many interesting
monuments. Among them we noticed Count Cavour's, and one to Madame
Catalani, the singer, and a monument to the Countess Beatrice.
The walls of the cloisters are celebrated for their frescoes, many of
which are fine specimens of the art, but all more or less injured by the
action of dampness or the air. The subjects are from Scripture, or
monkish legends. The most noted and striking is the Triumph of Death, in
which the grisly king of terrors is allegorically brought before the
spectator in a most striking manner, in various ways, such as the
exhibition of three coffins, and their ghastly tenant, as a warning to
three kings; Death swooping down, scythe in hand, upon a party of youths
and maidens; kings, warriors, and prelates yielding to the fell
destroyer, and angels and demons bearing their souls off in different
directions.
Reaching Spezzia at nine P. M., after a day's sight-seeing in Pisa, gave
us little time to do else than to obtain much-needed refreshment, look
at a beautiful moonlight view of the harbor, and engage a private
travelling carriage for our journey over the Apennines next morning. At
six o'clock we started, and as we gradually left the city behind, on our
rising road, had a fine sunrise view of its beautiful harbor, with
English, French, and American vessels at anchor, with their national
flags flying. The scenery among these mountains differs from that of
Switzerland. The mountains themselves seem of a golden bronze color in
the sunlight, from the color of the earth, which seems to be a sort of
Spanish brown. And again, there are long ranges and graceful peaks, the
sides of which are clad in light verdure, but no trees, which appear to
be of a delicate pea-green, shaded with rich red, brown, and bronze,
from the color of the rock and earth. There were great ranges of
mountains, stretching off in the distance, like fading sunset clouds,
transformed into mountains--a most beautiful effect.
Up we went, by the zigzags of the mountain road, surrounded by superb
scenery of hill, and crag, and distant range, till finally we came in
sight of the great Mediterranean, thousands of feet below us, flecked
with the white sails of ships and boats in every direction. Far on the
extreme edge of its blue plain crept a steamer, leaving a long trail of
smoke behind, like a dark serpent. Then every few miles, turns in the
road would bring us in view of little seaports beneath, with their
half-circle harbors, light-houses, and white walls standing, out
conspicuously on the deep blue of the sea, while the feluccas and great
lateen sails, gliding into their ports, reminded one strikingly of
panoramic views and paintings, or of those brilliant blue and white
pictures of Mediterranean seaports which we sometimes see suspended in
merchants' counting-rooms in America.
The ride was interesting, charming, and exhilarating; for, far off upon
one side of us stretched the magnificent, ever-changing mountain
scenery, and at the other, far down below, was the beautiful sea view,
with numerous ports, clusters of shipping, and pretty indentations,
while the road itself was smooth, hard, and in good condition, and our
carriage rattled over it at the full trot, to the occasional music of
the whip-cracks of the driver. We lunched, as we descended, at a
wretched little Italian port, and walked down to the sea-side, while our
food was in course of preparation, to pick up pebbles and get a near
view of the Mediterranean, which, until this day, I had never looked
upon except on the maps in the school geographies.
Continuing our journey, we passed hundreds--I may almost say,
thousands--of a species of cactus along by the road-side, ranging in
size from that of a soup plate to great pointed blades eight feet in
height. Upon one side of the road, a complete fence or barrier of these
plants was made, of nearly a mile in length; and a very effective guard
it was, with its tough, broad leaves ranged close together, with their
aggressive and thorny blades.
But however pleasant post-riding on the continent, over one of the
mountain roads may be, twelve or fifteen hours of it a day become
fatiguing, and we were not sorry when our carriage rolled into the
streets of Genoa at nine P. M., and, after twisting round through a
dozen or more crooked streets, landed us at the Hotel Feder. "La
Superba," and "City of Palaces," are the ostentatious titles that the
Genoese have applied to this place; but one hardly gets an idea of
anything very "superb" down in the old part of the city, where the
hotels are situated, for here the streets are narrow--narrow as lanes,
in fact, and not over-clean. The hotel Croce di Malta is one directly
fronting the shipping and harbor, and from its great massive turrets we
get a fine view of the latter. This hotel, a huge, castle-like building,
was, in fact, a stronghold of the Knights of Malta, and from its
battlements they looked forth watchfully upon the sea. Upon this front
street, like those fronting the wharves in our great cities, seem to be
the most vehicles. But as we recede into the narrower streets of the old
town, vehicles are few in number, and pedestrians, loungers, and
lazzaroni abundant. Our hotel is a stately building, on an alley that
widens into a square, from which runs a narrow street lined with jewelry
and fancy goods stores, in which the elegant silver filigree work, which
is a specialty of Genoa, is displayed. This filigree is composed of fine
wires of silver, elegantly wrought and twisted into the shape of
wreaths, flowers, butterflies, and various artistic and fanciful
figures, and is all sold by weight. Although originally of pure white,
delicate, frosty-looking silver, it is also often electro-plated with
gold.
Let not the unsophisticated reader imagine, either, when we speak of a
fancy goods or jewelry store in the old city of Genoa, a spacious,
well-lighted establishment, with great plate-glass windows, and a forty
or a one hundred feet frontage. Imagine, rather, a little, one-windowed,
narrow, deep, dark store, in a crowded street, the whole frontage of the
store door and window not exceeding fifteen or eighteen feet, and you
have it. The buildings on these little, narrow streets, though, are of
the most massive character, seemingly built, as in warm countries, of
solid masonry, to keep out the heat, and are, many of them, of great
height, while the narrow streets are most effectually shaded by them
from the sun. There are but very few vehicles that pass beneath our
windows, or into the square; but the patter of feet, and the clatter of
voices in the evening, are great.
Genoa must look beautifully from the sea, as it is built upon a height
rising gradually some five hundred feet out from the shore; and, as we
get out from the tortuous and narrow lanes of the old city, the squares
and streets assume a less antique and cramped appearance. There are
three great streets, the principal of which is the Strada Nuova, which
is filled with lofty and elegant buildings, streets of palaces, many of
them with unpretending exteriors, but with rich linings. One contains
the most extensive collection of engravings in Italy--nearly sixty
thousand; another is rich in paintings; a third in autograph letters,
and relics of the great navigator, Christopher Columbus, who, your guide
will be sure to inform you, "deescoovare Amereeke."
In one of the squares we saw the elegant marble monument erected to
him--a circular shaft, bearing his full-length statue resting his hand
upon a kneeling figure, while about the base of the column were four
other allegorical statues, and beautiful bass-reliefs upon the four
panels.
The visitor may have his feast of relics in the cathedral and the Church
of St. Ambrogio, if he desires; but, after getting round upon the "grand
tour" as far as this, he will probably find that he has seen fragments
enough of the true cross to have made half a dozen of them, nails enough
to have filled a keg, and bones enough of certain named saints to have
set up two or three entire skeletons of the same individual.
One of the most delightful places to visit in the vicinity of Genoa is
the Pallavicini Gardens, a few miles out. These gardens, though not
remarkably extensive, are laid out in the most ingenious, beautiful, and
expensive manner. Arriving at the villa, you ascend a flight of stairs
in the house, and step out upon a broad and magnificent terrace of white
marble, from which there is one of the most charming views imaginable of
Genoa below, the blue sea beyond, and, far in the distance the peaks of
Corsican mountains. Directly below this terrace are others, decorated
with vases and broad flights of white marble steps and balusters, and
upon these terraces are grand parterres of flowers, and tall orange and
lemon trees growing, elegant camellias of every hue, roses, great
rhododendrons, and beautiful azaleas.
Walking through an avenue of flowers and shrubbery from here, you come
to an exquisite little Grecian temple in white marble, beautifully
frescoed. Then you pass through another walk, arranged in Italian style,
with beautiful vases and rare shrubs. Another turning, and you come to a
pretty rustic cottage with all the surroundings so contrived as to make
a charming natural picture. You ascend a height, and encounter a
picturesque ruined tower (artificial), and from the height enjoy
charming views in every direction. You descend the hill, and come to a
miniature cavern of stalactites, through which the guide conducts you.
It is filled with natural wonders--crystallizations and beautiful
petrifactions, brought at immense expense from every part of Italy, and
so arranged as to make an apparently natural formation--a natural
grotto, gorgeous in the extreme. In the dark recesses of this cavern you
reach a river, an ornamental boat approaches, and you are rowed silently
through great arches of gloomy caverns, winding hither and thither,
apparently into the innermost bowels of the earth, until you begin to
fear the guide may have lost his way, when suddenly the boat shoots
forth upon the bosom of a charming little lake, surrounded by objects of
interest and beauty on every side.
The first object that attracts the attention is an artificial island in
the centre of the lake, upon which is a beautifully-sculptured,
miniature Temple of Diana, containing a statue of the goddess. Then you
come to several small islands, connected by means of Chinese bridges,
with all the surroundings Chinese. A Chinese pagoda, with its gay sides
and bell-tipped peaks, rises near at hand. Chinese lanterns are
suspended, and a bamboo and tiled Chinese house, seen through Oriental
shrubbery, transports you in imagination, without much effort, to the
land of the Celestials.
At other points in these wonderful gardens are similar artificial
effects. One portion is planned to represent Egyptian ruins. A
needle-like obelisk, covered with hieroglyphics, rises upon a sandy
shore, and shattered columns, friezes, and sculptures are strewn on the
ground. Some rest in the water, and the lotus flower near by, with a
solemn, ibis-looking bird or two standing about, completes the illusion.
There were little wildernesses of charming walks amid beautiful,
ornamental gardening, where the senses were charmed with flowers of
every hue and perfume, where aromatic and curious shrubs challenged the
attention, and made the air as fragrant as a land breeze off the Spice
Islands.
Then there was one feature which our guide seemed to think _the_ one of
the whole, and that was the ingenious tricks and deceptions which had
been arranged with water. I may as well observe that this guide, like
many of his race in Italy, was an inordinate lover of garlic. That
dreadful odor enveloped him like a halo, and when he opened his mouth to
speak, there was a perceptible widening of our circle of listeners to
get beyond the range; but it was impossible unless the wind were in your
favor, for the fellow fairly reeked with the effluvia from every pore of
his greasy, oily, Italian hide, and poisoned the atmosphere in his
vicinity. Each of our party of four took his turn in occupying the
position next to the guide in his detour of the gardens. No one of us
could have endured it the whole distance.
The water surprises consist of a series of ingenious tricks for
drenching and showering visitors--considered a capital joke, no doubt,
in Italy; but ladies who can have a delicate silk dress watered with a
watering-pot _à discretion_, without the surprise, and gentlemen who are
not partial to having two or three pints of water squirted into their
faces and upon their shirt-bosoms, do not appreciate the joke.
One of these consists of a door placed just ajar, at a passage leading
into an attractive little nook. The exploring tourist, in endeavoring to
open it farther, by the motion he communicates to the door, receives a
stream full in the face. A Chinese bridge is so constructed that the
visitor, on reaching its centre, finds himself surrounded by fine
streams of water all playing towards him, from which it is impossible to
escape unless by rushing through the _jets d'eau_. Upon one of the
little Chinese islands an ornamental swing invites the visitor, who no
sooner is enjoying the motion than a fine spray greets him in the face;
and another stream is so contrived as continually to strike the bottom
of the open-work seat as he glides to and fro. We only experienced one
of these surprises, and the volley of the denunciation that the guide
received from the linguist of our party in his own tongue, coupled with
various powerful English expletives from the others, the import of which
was unmistakable, evidently convinced him that it would not be to his
advantage to play his tricks upon that party of travellers; and he did
not. However, the gardens are the most beautiful and attractive
imaginable. No amount of money has been spared in their care, or the
decorations we have mentioned, all of which are of the most costly and
expensive character--an evidence to what an extent artistic taste may be
carried with unlimited means behind it.
Having "done" what was possible of Genoa in the brief time allowed, we
took train for Turin, _en route_ for Paris, the railway carrying us
through magnificent mountain scenery, great tunnels, and fine specimens
of railway engineering, through the city of Alessandria, and past its
frowning citadel, through the city of Asti, surrounded by picturesque
hills, upon which probably the vines grow that produce the wine "Asti,"
which figures on the hotel bills of fare, and which is warmly commended
by landlords and sometimes travellers; but my own experience convinces
me there should have been an "N" pre-fixed, to have given the proper
name to that which I tasted of the brand.
On we go, through smiling vineyards and grain-fields, and by and by
catch a distant view of our old acquaintances, the snowy-peaked Alps,
against the horizon. We reached Turin at eight o'clock in the evening,
and were driven, through the bright gas-lighted streets from the station
at a spanking pace, to the Hotel de l'Europe, situated in a grand square
opposite the king's palace, and kept in a style befitting its position.
I do not think, in the whole of our tour, we found a hotel its equal,
certainly not its superior, in admirable _cuisine_, prompt attendance,
reasonable prices, and comfortable appointments. Although arriving at
eight P. M., and but four in party, a dinner, in regular courses, was
served for us, with luxuries and a style that I have seldom seen
equalled. The comforts and enjoyments of this admirable establishment
caused us to regret to leave it, as we were compelled to early next
morning, without seeing the city, except such portion of it as we rode
through on our way to the station of the railway by which we were to
reach Susa, from whence we were to cross Mount Cenis by carriage.
This carriage trip over the mountain we arranged for at the hotel in
Turin, with Joseph Borgo, the somewhat celebrated proprietor, who
stipulated to have a first-class carriage for four persons, to convey us
over the mountain to San Michel, to provide four horses, change a
certain number of times, and occupy certain hours in the transit--all of
which was duly filled out in writing, and for which we paid two hundred
and fifty-five francs (fifty-one dollars), which included all expenses
except our own personal hotel bills. The carriage was promised to meet
us at the station in Susa.
A railway ride of thirty-three miles brought us to Susa; and there, with
the driver harnessing up four splendid dapple grays, stood an
establishment in which one would not have been ashamed to have made his
appearance on the drive at Central Park, New York,--bright, new, and
modern built, and very like a modern American barouche, save that the
seat usually occupied by the driver was a trifle higher, shielded by a
chaise-top, and reserved for two outside passengers, the driver's seat
being below it, nearer the horses.
We were wondering as to the whereabouts of our own carriage, and what
grand duke was to take this handsome equipage, while the common people
were entering diligences and the usual dust-covered, creaking, and
rickety coaches one becomes so accustomed to in Italy, when we observed
our own luggage being carefully bestowed upon the rack behind, and we
were approached by Borgo's agent, who inquired if we had a "billet" for
the "voiture;" and upon producing our lithographed and signed ticket,
the carriage was brought up to where our group of a lady and three
gentlemen stood, with the usual Italian whip-cracking.
The agent threw open the door with a flourish, and, "_Entrez_, monsieur;
we _is_ ready."
Two seated themselves upon the box-seat, two upon the back seat of the
open barouche; the door was closed with a bang, the polite agent raised
his hat.
"_Bon voyage_"; and the driver, firing a volley of whip-cracks, the four
grays started off with a clatter of silver-mounted harness, on a smart
trot, as we rode away in the best appointed equipage it had been our
fortune to enjoy in our whole European tour.
This fact contributed to mitigate the conviction that fifty-one dollars
in gold was a pretty high price, as it was, for a fourteen hour's ride,
compared with that paid for carriages in other parts of Italy for
similar journeys. Borgo, however, had a monopoly of the best carriages,
and was always sure of English tourists, who would take none other, and
really performs his service thoroughly and well, without any attendant
vexations, delays, humbugs, or swindles--a great consideration to the
tourist.
The Mont Cenis Pass, it will be remembered, was built by order of
Napoleon I., by engineer Fabbroni, and the culminating point of it
reaches an elevation of sixty-seven hundred and seventy-five feet above
the level of the sea. The original cost of the road was three hundred
thousand pounds, although a large additional amount has since been
expended upon it. It is the safest and most frequented route between
France and Italy, and it was by this road the French troops entered
Italy in 1859.
The beautiful mountain views of this grand ride, if described, would be
to the reader almost a repetition of others given in these pages. The
great sweeps of scenery from the zigzags of the road, the old Hospice of
the monks that we halt at, the boundary line between France and Italy,
all claim attention as we roll along upon our journey, and feel in the
atmosphere that we are leaving Italy's penetrating heat, and, let us
hope, also its flies and filthiness, behind us. Italy was left behind;
houses of refuge on the mountain road had been passed, grand scenery
viewed, great curves and wondrous windings been marvelled at, and our
aching bones confessed that even in the best-appointed vehicles, fatigue
is not a stranger; so we were not sorry at night to reach the dirty
little Hotel de la Poste, in the muddy little village of San Michel, in
French dominions--Savoy.
Next forenoon we bade adieu to post travelling, taking train at two P.
M. for Macon, on the Saone River, about forty miles north of the city of
Lyons, where we saw a pretty quay along the river, and a bridge over it,
and learned that the city was chiefly dependent on its wine trade for
business. The same chain of hills that protect the vineyards of that
noted wine-growing department of France known as Côte d'Or, extends
through the department of Saone et Loire, of which Macon is the capital;
but from some causes the wines are not so fine as those of that
celebrated district: however, Macon wines, which are set down on most of
the hotel bills of fare in Europe and our own country, are served here
in their original purity and excellence, which cannot always be said of
them in America. Coming here, we passed Lake Bourget, which Lamartine
mentions in his poetry as "_the_ lake;" it looked very grandly under the
influence of a violent September gale, which was raising its waves like
a miniature ocean, at Culoz, where we dined.
Passing the night at Macon, we left next day for Paris, reaching the
city at seven o'clock P. M. Here once more we experienced some of the
excellent arrangements characterizing great cities in foreign countries.
Not a passenger was permitted to enter that portion of the great station
till the baggage was all unloaded and sorted, which was done with
marvellous celerity and skill, each foreign party's pieces being
selected by some clews they had, and piled together.
This being done, we were permitted to enter; and a customs officer, as
we designated our trunks, inquired if they contained eau de cologne,
fire-arms, and various other things, in a sort of formula that he
repeated. We had nothing "to declare" for Paris, as we assured this
functionary our luggage was packed for America; in fact, some of it was
a sort of heterogeneous puzzle of shirts, Swiss carved work, coats,
stockings, stereoscopic views, boots, Genoese jewelry, handkerchiefs,
Vienna leather, guide-books, and photographs, such as all tourists
become acquainted with, more, or less, upon their first experience on
the "grand tour." With a polite wave of the hand, the officer summoned
another, who also spoke English, and whose duty it was to despatch
foreigners to their several destinations in the city: this person, in
his turn, after learning the quarter of the city we wished to reach,
calling two railway porters, transferred our luggage to a carriage in
waiting, told the driver in French where to carry us, and ourselves in
English what we were to pay for the service, and, bowing politely,
turned on his heel, and we were once more rattling over the smooth
asphalt pave of Paris, the streets and cafés of which were ablaze with
gas, the windows gay with brilliant display of goods, and the broad
Boulevards thronged with crowds of pedestrians.
Having experienced the swindles and inconveniences of the Grand Hotel
and Hotel de l'Athenée, we were more than grateful to find an excellent
American boarding-house upon the Boulevard Haussman, fronting the Rue
Trouchet, commanding an extended view of the Boulevard and the
Madeleine, and kept by Miss Emily Herring, a New York lady, where
excellent accommodations, prompt service, and good _cuisine_ were had,
and no vexatious swindling "extras" or "bougies" put in the bill, French
fashion, which is so exasperating to the English and American tourists.
Having sight-seen Paris so much at a former visit, one might imagine but
little remained to be done; but such is not the case in this great
capital, though now, with our faces set, as it were, homewards, there
was but little time remaining for that purpose. A visit to the sewers
was an excursion that we desired to make, especially with the
remembrance of Jean Valjean's experiences, in Victor Hugo's story, Les
Misérables, fresh in mind. Having obtained a permit from the proper
authorities, we found, on arriving at the point designated, that we were
one of a party of a dozen ladies and gentlemen. We looked somewhat
askant at the silk and muslin dresses of the former, as being hardly the
costume one would select for going down into a drain with, and wondered
whether the olfactories of the wearers would be proof against what might
assail them during their visit. But our doubts, as will be seen, were
soon removed on this point.
Descending through a large iron trap-door in the sidewalk, near the
Church of the Madeleine, by a stone staircase, we found ourselves in a
handsome, vaulted, stone tunnel, twenty feet high, with granite
sidewalks on each side, between which, in a space perhaps ten feet wide
and five deep, ran the sewage. By some admirable system of ventilation,
these sewers are kept so clean and sweet that no more offence is done to
the olfactories than in a wash-room. Overhead run great iron pipes, by
which the city is supplied with pure water; also telegraph wires,
enclosed in lead pipes, by which communication is had with the police
and official stations in different parts of the city. But we were to
make a trip through the sewers. Two or three open cars, with cushioned
seats, holding twelve persons, and lighted by a brilliant carcel lamp
in front, were in readiness, and into these the ladies and gentlemen of
the party were bestowed. The car runs on a track placed on the edge of
the flowing sewage, and is propelled by men who run on a narrow stone
pathway, and push it.
Away we went, through the great arched tunnel, now and then hearing the
faint rumble of vehicles sound above, as we pass beneath some great
thoroughfare. We know exactly what quarter of the city we are beneath by
the little blue china signs, bearing the names of the streets, which are
posted at intervals along the walls, and every now and then pass
intersecting sewers discharging their floods into the main artery. We
ride smoothly along for a mile or two, are switched off into side
passages, back into the main one, ride perhaps a mile or so more, then
come to a stop, and ascend into a square of the city far distant from
where we started, convinced that this is the most admirable system of
sewage that could possibly be devised, and that for sanitary purposes
nothing could be better. Not only, let it be borne in mind, is the
sewage carried off beneath the ground, but even the very sewers
themselves kept so clean and neat, and withal so perfectly ventilated,
that ladies and gentlemen may pass through them without soiling their
clothing or offence to the senses.
We were told that, when completed, there would be nearly four hundred
miles of these sewers, and that not only could they be made use of for
conveying the waste drainage of the city away, but could be used for the
purpose of underground communication of troops from one point of the
city to another, in case of revolutionary riots, when passage above
ground might be disputed for four times the number.